It’s Not Nice To Point
(Born on the 4th of July, 2005)

Oh yeah, Banana Hat?
Click?
Just Click?
Only Click?
No Orders?
No laughing?
Only Click?
Peoria could teach you a thing or two,
Echo Park shadow man.

Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s not nice to point?
Where is your mom?
You better hope she didn’t see your
Barrel to Slackjaw
Waiting to see what will happen tonight,
Little whippersnapper.

Think you’re fancy in your cornflower blue striped truck?
Surely it’s something American,
Sharing my lungs on this greasy precipice.
A jungle gym of metal on top.
Running me into the bushes of Cerro Gordo,
With your big old headlights.

Or worse.
Think you’re not?
Did she make you
Think you were so invisible
you made me want to be?
Taking my equilibrium for kicks.
Blaming me, cause you’re not really free?
Galatians and Leviticus can stick it.

A minute ago I was watching Mother Earth walk it off
In her hip moo-moo.
I was watching her absent minded professor
Circle her like a greyhound.
A minute ago I was puffing up this fatty hill,
Alive with sweat.

Thinking about how smokey this night is.
Red wine in my hand,
Watching the fireworks,
Listening to the dogs,
Watching the sun go down.

Now I’m wondering if I’m wet with blood, but can’t feel it.
If I’m dead, but don’t know it.
Because you wanted to dance, but didn’t ask.
It’s only a perfect night to kill a stranger,
Because your mom didn’t teach you any manners.

8/5/05