my sanity hung on my shoulders
the last thrift store suit on the rack
but I knew I would be okay if I could
sit in her aura and watch her undress
and it was a damn good thing
that I was cheap steak tough
or I might have cracked to pieces
when that fat-headed boss stepped
carelessly on my spectacles, my ego, my balls
but the road called, me on one end of the string
her on the other, our tin cans pushing
against the barometric pressure
but this amber engine light mocks me
like it knows my fate and I can't push
the pedal through the floorboard
even with both feet
the turnpike to her house looked like
a cheap parlor trick, an m. c. escher
endless joke of a path to a few hours of bliss
then the long ride back to reality
working on it
working on it
If you do not change your direction
you may end up where you are heading
you may end up where you are heading
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