FISHIN FOR CHANGE IN A FILTHY PUBLIC PHONE...
its a name with no draw and nothing to prove, filing down the clock's hands and wrapping up the dollar bills in brown paper bags / stuffing it deep down in his pockets with no expectations in the least / tell it to the careless who fly low and run into every telephone pole on the same street back and forth for years and years until their battered wings turn gray / and they sing the crows caw like its the most beautiful song fit to hack, up and down and never noticing futility as it stares em in the face full on cackling out as loud and as happy as can be / its a waste of age and a waste of youth cracked out on the breadline and praising every minute and second and hour and year and month and decade of wasted time, just living to work to exist

wondering about the condition of this and that singin offkey and screamin at the top of my voice / pullin on bands of various tension and making some kind of beautiful racket / in the afternoon i found my calling and slept through it in the evening i found nothing and loved it / constant bangin on the wall at intervals of nine and seven / constant mess on the floor from three layabout thrift store rejects converging periodically and leaving a mess for me to clean up / no i dont mind i really dont / i say i'm an artist and i'm a performer and i'm a musician and they ask me what those terms mean, what gives you the right to say you're all those things? / i realize it aint worth even thinkin about if you think about it / if you think youre something then whats the difference to you if you aint and if you are

music lives / art lives / america lives / for now i lives trashin my brain for a days wages / getting lost on my own street / butane and alcohol fumes all around / put a plastic bag on my head / total dimestore fashion i know how much i smoke / scissorfaced man sittin three chairs down askin for directions / even his smile looks like a sneer / wastes of time abound in the afternoon morning here / meantime i look for the entrance outside

you see the world continuing as is while i see vagabonds and hoboes and all manner of folk that dont know where, just that theyre goin

outside downtown / goin to rox's meat market / steppin in old broken glass on the old broken curb lovin every minute of blankness / and then the dreaming of the old days / music will die / art will die / america will die / i will die / but not today

styrofoam living waits down at the dock with my name and headstone, whistling "brother can you spare a dime" / i'm whistling a tune i half-wrote with Count Basie a few years back / and the song just disappears in the breeze like every other time / and that's okay

...ABOUT THIS TIME A MAN ASKS ME IF HE COULD PLEASE USE THE PHONE