Bed to the Bills

Day day day day...

Day day day day...

The next day

The exact same nurse is standing with her back to me at every last

Every last passing bus stop (x4)

Only this time, what looks like a small stack of bills with bat wings

Hovering just beside her

They're bound together by a narrow wishbone,

Beneath it rests a large bowl full, bowl full of some

Indifferent fruit waxen looking still

Atop a three quarter length corinthian column



To the left, is a rather fit "right" woman's left leg,

Buried thigh deep in the hallowed and wood-chip topped bus stop grounds



The planted lady's leg looking clean shaven and hot

Sweat beading up about its calf in the black avenue amplified sun

An eye blue high heel jut in full bloom on its visible end



And so you get off

To find two suits arguing silent

Before a double-parked and obviously unmarked cop car

The blown-up head flesh of two big business men, a-hover above them

A good foot or two of twine dangling from their tied off throats,

Running down into their hollowed dress shirt collar mouths



You over hear them mutter something serious about

The second hand emotion

And then comes something like semi-poetic directions

A ways down commerce. then turn, dead straight into ashe



And so you walk,

Predicting all possible presents in ever to bits, and back

From the bed to the bills you see nothing but

Pit within (x10)

So long gone (x8)



From the bed to the bills you see nothing but pit within pit

And an undeniable feeding on you

(x5)

From the bed to the bills you see nothing but pit within pit

And more this



A honey smothered hand gun all covered in ants,

Trembles on a three quarter length corinthian column

(x15)