Sore

vultures and helicopters overhead i'm broken down
used car blues, it's no time to joke around.
the only solution i can think of so far
is to smash out the windows with a crowbar.
and as the headlights shatter into stars one by one,
i curse the at the road and try to knock out the sun.
i kick in the corner panels, son of a whore.
the paint starts to chip off as i rip off one of the doors.
same hotel room again with the right mixture
of terrible smells and dead flies in the light fixture
i listen to the oldies station, half asleep and kind of smokey
girl in the next room is howling like a coyote.
hand in my pants, feeling like a phyllistine
all eyes empty, every door way a guillotine.
i'm drunk on lonliness, out of shape and half eaten
the phone don't work and god's in a staff meeting.
out of breath at the end of a long summer.
waiting for a phone call that isn't a wrong number.
a smile from a pretty girl, feet don't fail me.
i sleep like a baby and get out of jail free
i spit my teeth in my hand and read the classifieds.
poke holes in my memories until i'm satisfied.
i'm drawn to familiar environments and dangers.
i look at my photo albums and all i see are strangers.