Filed down coffins in the neighborhood. A Spanish girl walking by
the cemetery wood. Five in the pan, we do what we can though
it ain’t right. A fat man sitting on the side of his remote,
his daughter’s in the kitchen trying to clean his coat,
I bet she can’t. The rattle of a bottle on a warped wooden desk,
shaking back and forth beside my bated breath. A blind girl laughing
while I stare at her chest, I’m in the zone.
I won’t survive if I make it out alive. Seven/ten split, I don’t got…
Down on Main Street, I got friends waiting there.
I don’t need no drop off girls. I like the air.
Elysian Park through the dark about a mile.
A little white girl with a Bobby King smile.
Blue little bags she says she knows
I’m feeling bad I’m worth your while. But here
‘tween the palette feelings I don’t understand,
cardboard cutouts, just be a man. Have fun
walking home in Mike Davis land. Pull the wool
over my eyes. I don’t want to understand. I like the trees,
the army and the colors that they wear, they like to scare.
A few blocks home from remembering my name, a few blocks home.
Down on Main Street,
I got friends waiting there.
I don’t need no drop off girls, I like the air