Current mood:	crazy
Current music:	oh beatles, and my ukulele

spring cleaning
i bought second hand happiness from the salvation army
i had reality sterilized and sanatized for your protection
shiny psycho personality traits why can't you trust me?
i'm toeing the line like never before.
you can get your hand chopped off for breaking those laws.
stay away from national borders for a while
so how is toledo? you ask.
"it costs more to exhale than it does to inhale these days,"
i comment to the city butcher
as he chops 10 fingers off of a stiff hand.
"i'll take a pair of thumbs" i say
i pay him in carbon monoxide
and run off after a sewer rat who died two days ago
because he couln't cut it stateside.
i packed him in a box and sent him off
to an old author who could do him more poetic justice than i.
tried out my new thumbs at an abandoned section of highway
nothing happened so i ate one as a snack and used the other
to hitch a ride on a mail truck bound for yonkers.
i threw money and gold upon the streets upon arriving
the prince and i kisseed each other's shoe leather
he claimed it was customary, though i couldn't help but think
that his dreams would be a little sweeter in the coming nights.
to apppease an impulse i bought a gun
and shot myself out of a cannon
to see it i could beat the bullet to the punch.
oddly enough the train arrived first.
all aboard and gun in hand i roobbed that train
in perfect midwest tradition
collecting all the precious fingers and toes, and inhales and exhales,
rats and mail, shoes and steaks, good ideas and bad ideas.
leaving the passengers naked and unaware.
a bird flew in the window of the train at that very moment
and built a nest in the mustache of the conductor
and laid an egg in his belly
and i fled the scene before i could be blamed.
i returned home only to collect my cactus and my ukulele
i shot the sun out of my cannon and
shot myself out of my gun
magnificent fireworks were anjoyed by all
at least those who chose not to be wax sculptures this season.
everyone must serve at least one season in the wax sculpture army
its our patriotic duty ever since taxes went out of style.
they might cut your hand off if you don't.
But they might cut your hand off if you do.
either way i'll be selling second-hand hands in the sunset,
at least until the next eclipse.