These trite, tattered, ponchos and scarfs say p*ss and five bucks about me.
I cut my own lawn with silver nail clippers
Supported by short, grody fingers
That have been blistered pressing wire hangers downtown, Nebraska
and f*cked up real bad scraping pie crust drippings from the bottom of my landlord's gas oven.
I sweep the porch before I head off to Tulsa Welding School,
place's like a feild day scent, latex caricature.
Ovens claming, Tight wound metal devices,
like the guts of a clock,
tick-tockin'.
and studio girls and boys, gather because of collected pompous attitudes,
to share slick, icy gestures
lip-lockin'
without me.
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