In a severe beat persistent,
Civil Quarters in Hatian tongue,
Hollow be your fertility,
little hand on the stolen permission,
big hand ticking on your lame excuse ambition.
It's three day evolution O' clock,
between the cracks of syntax error
sitting and waiting for the beep:
I got the human question,
and you got the answering machine.
and I pricked my nails on the Ouija board splinters,
checked all my mesages and your tone gave me all sorts of shivers
Screeched my nails down on the green chalkboard,
never was I more determined:
500 times I must not talk
nesting, I am the legion, I am my own membership
Incident, the circumference of your chain link steering wheel,
power steering clear of objects that are closer than they appear
in the rear view of the mirror
all your "soons" are all of my "nows"
I bought myself with apologies,
indent with attendant repair,
and spoiled without an offsides penalty with Russian alibies and masked as intuition, lullabies
and your check bounced higher than any other piece of plagiarism,
stolen from concrete expenses.
It expired, repetitive calamity with tender pitch, and your risk nature
well, not a damn thing becomes epic in wetback proportions.
Nothing holds the pages in mid-sentence anxiety against bought-out variety
these partly cloudy assumptions
under the counter pleads if by reason of profanity
alone, intact and faithfully humble.
Amusement likes those who mumble
rack on top shelf categorization
I bought myself with apologies
Indent, Attendant repair.
Repulsive, gentle lower east side abundance
I got the human question,
and you got the answering machine.
And I got my fists in my pockets,
and all the fallen angels dancin' at my feet