this is what someone calls living
pouring paperbacked prophecies
into advice worth giving
he says "someday"
as if he's got the time
i say "someday"
praying it will never be mine
our cars collide
with our futures
more often than we'd prefer
so we slip on streams of consciousness
and kiss ourselves goodbye
kiss myself goodbye
i've no more time for time
and less patience than your money can buy
there must be something pure about staying in
something more than the recycled sin
that i'm seeping onto the street
i've got a right mind
and two left feet
with my untimely, timid staggered stance
my nerve-wracked, naseous last chance dance
