A wide promenade monitors my progress,
or so I pretend.
I spy time's lover-man
spit into my chafed hands
stroll with natural haughtiness
Cars like Tom Jones' lyrics
race each other with unbridled nastiness
lighter flickers blue flame on top Pastor's home
John drives decrepit Mercury Grand Father's
homemade excuse for wheels
Wars on Mars seem possible now.

How did I know Opa meant Grandfather?
And where's the T Z?
Lay-z ride in gramp's back seat
Venus never had this much fun

"Lover-man, Oh where can you be?"

Spring time is ironic for me
everyone with their IJUSTGOTLAID glows
my glow grew faint long ago
I live in a permanent brown-out
like the one that lasted six weeks
my cousin, Jesus, watching TV on brown power