You think you’ve got cool salsa, spicy and rich.
Mines ugly and trying to be paleo to lose some weight and remember Jesus, and it gets anxious in cities and really all the time,
but cities are where the poets are at, the academics and COOL PEOPLE that make me sick,
so I guess I’ll eat some plain sea-salt, organic, peppered salsa under a waterfall, waiting to see Jesus sitting on the end of the rainbow in the gas-stained reflection of light. Except at the end instead of a pot of gold there’s the old man from that State Farm commercial with a dollar on his hook.
You’ll eat spicy shit and be okay, while I get sick for three days, born again singing Ch-ch-changes without doing a damn thing.
I’m always making metaphors, and trying to make the world happier, but I accidentally make your dog run faster away from you when you lose him by trying to catch him, so I’ll eat French fries while listening to the rock opera Tommy and the cow jumped over the moon and quacked like a long-haired Bowie