To Be Read by a Walking Bass

Shine from stores spills
onto the come and go road
until glares meet shadows where i'm wonderin.'

I'm wearin' a couple reason to be
stared at:
Jacket too big, shirt too
shitty, leanin'
on a frozen lamppost feelin'
the snow sink into my skin.

Must be jazz night here
as the bar is full of saxy notes
and singers with smokey throats
propeller glass doors spittin' out sparklin'
dames all over the sidewalk
strugglin' for cigarettes.

These people breathe fashion
like it was
nicotine, wearin' pearls
and jewels just
like Frankenstein's stitches.

Eyes full of ice from inspectin' too much
I slink over to the chicks
just like a farmer expectin' eggs
and light them all up with a wave of my match
and a joke they all slurp
especially pink lipstick
who's showin' off her forever legs
and just like that i'm off the street and
in her bed, wonderin'
what happened in between this scene.

Turns out Pinky's snores
last as long as her legs
either that or the jazz headache
keeps on keepin me up
or maybe it's her lingere
wrapped up my boots
like some lacy roots
ticklin' and teasin' me
doin' everything now but pleasin' me
and it's time to go.


So it is,
out
just as easy as in
back to friend frozen lampost
and feelin' the snow
sink into my skin.