completely cut loose from purpose
the bus kept right on going
all eight wheels behind us in the ditch
does anyone remember how to steer
is there a cartographer in the house
i’d ask bukowski why we’re still here
but he isn’t
cashed in his ticket and hitched off for darker pastures
the bastard
but it doesn’t have to be him
dial up any one of the old gang on the ouija
let whitman take a turn at the wheel
make sure we stop for emily dickinson
the radio on this sumbitch is busted
plays nothing but the news
spat out my tape in a long magnetic drool
guess i’ll sit in silence
someone in the back started up a song
it’s been going round picking up volume
sounds pretty nice
i’ve always had a problem with choruses
but i think i could sit in on this one
next time it comes around
if it ever does
