Don't pick at your
brain and don't
pick at your heart.
The marrow the arrow the neurons
a part.
Don't tuck or touch it or pull on the glue
of the things that go bump in your chest
in the night the demons
the cupids the vultures
in flight. In transit or utero
dead or alive the pickings
the sickling is moaning
in
side with the hero
open your mouth
but don't pick at the lining
the trimming the cloth.
Open the brainwash book
and close your eyes
sometimes it's just better
to keep it
in
side with the lady
that stands by the road
she's waiting for Billy
to take her on home
where the buffaloes
don't exist any more.
It don't matter she'll never
ask questions that ring
chime or scream
belt or bleep
in the ear of the man
who'll never he'll never
love you again.
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