Confiding in strangers. Torn at the stem.
There’s a mardi gras in my head. I wish I wasn’t born again.
If wishes were horses, there’d be some in my soup.
Time until tuesday. Dames on the stoop.
But wishes aren’t horses. Tie cans to the carriage.
Throw those beads at my feet. This is the marriage
of heaven and hell. Listen as the clock ticks tell.
Time is the stranger. I is the voyeur.
Here come the ramblers. There go the dice.
We all start fasting at midnite tonight
and this time through, I’m gonna get things
write ’em down.
Tonight these streets will be littered with laughter.
Drunk with the Zulu and, “Show me your tits!”
But I’m already the morning after.
Smiling and weeping, sweeping up all this shit.