Testi By Torpedo Or Crohn's - WHY?

By Torpedo Or Crohn's

Sleeping late, I\nHear the sad horns of labor trucks sigh\nMy neighbor walks by\nHigh heels click dry\nLike half-a-proud\nHorse down Brook\nI hear somebody’s\nBabbling I mistook\nFor a cavalry\nWhispering «victory»\nTo the sparks in their kindling\nBut all their green woods\nWet, and unmet as of yet\nBy the gases of flame\nPressing against the pending\nPhysics of my passed down last\nName. Living in the tear between\nTwo spaces, condemned;\nIn one of the many places\nYou’re not, I am\nHiding from my friends\nIn the bathroom at 'ThriftTown'\nTo write this tune down\nToday after lunch\nI got sick and blew chunks\nAll over my new shoes\nIn a lot behind 'Whole Foods'\nThis is a new kind of blues\nAnd what about losing\nLimb or loved one in a duel\nDissatisfies you of seems just?\nAs a kid I did not shit my pants much;\nWhy start now with this stuff?\nAnd I do not bluff, second caller\nGets bit by a dog or Jeff Dahmer\nKisses or stitches?\nNo mitt for these pitches\nLone Pone one\nMaster of the cheap pun\nIf I’m not raw\nI’m just a bit underdone\nBut I’d be O.K., cool as a rail\nIf they’d just let us have\nHealth food in hell\nGood heaven’s background radiation\nAnd the black arts of waiting\nNot the same since I switched my hair-\nPart and started shaving. Got hexed--\nMy hidden hair-gone corners\nOh, I’ll never be a joiner\nLife long local foreigner, I\nRaw-lung, homegrown fake\nIn coed naked choir;\nSecond tenor, highest rise\nBlessed clever compromister\nI’ll be proudly mouthing\n'watermelon' every song\nI put the phone to my ear\nBut all I hear’s a dial tone\nWill they map my skull\nAnd wrap my bones\nWhen my wig is gone? Hmmm?\nI’ll go unknown\nBy torpedo or Crohn’s\nOnly those evil live to see\nTheir own likeness in stone\nMy brother said that