It ain't easy
being a cowboy
these days,
drinking bleach
on the regular,
went to a
liquid deadpan
disco
a summer night
in Berlin,
and the girl
from you know
where,
she's a
driver's seat
princess,
sequencing
your genes
on a Commodore 64,
that song
slaps ketchup
straight up,
not to mention
the way
she flips
her hair
when there's
nothing else to flip,
she just happens
to be that
fricking real,
rawdogging
the vodka bottle
without a care
in the world,
you should see me
after two
non-alcoholic
ginger beers,
I'm out of
my mind,
but I was
merely
her Intermezzo,
the thing
between the things,
I tend to
carry a burner,
ready to escape
the face
of this earth
whenever
the authorities
find out
what I did
behind a
blinking terminal
in middle school,
hacked an overseas
government
website,
left a
little note
that said
I did it all
to prove a point,
growing up
changed my brain
my subconsciousness
used to
unionize
against
the control
of the
superego,
but they shot
the union
official,
Joe Hill
in Salt Lake City,
alive as you and me,
I don't take
unnecessary risks
anymore,
my mind
is too busy
realizing
that I'll never
write
like the girl
with the
unique name,
there's a
French
indescribable quality
to every stanza
she microwaves,
the truth is
she missed
the memo,
she memed
the miss,
and that's not
even half of it,
I'm running
through weeks
containing years
of perfectly
mashed
marmalade,
dragging
live wires
across
wet pavement,
it lights up
the street
in the night,
but it comes
with a cost
I'm not
willing to pay,
people nowadays
they shoot
from the hip
before the duel
starts,
so after all,
I think
the motion stands,
it sure is
quite tough
to be a cowboy
these days.