This mouth-breathing monster
with his stubby, red fingers,
his rhuemy eyes running
on the back on my neck.
Makes my heart pound in my temples,
shakes the shrines in my head.
I was dreaming about fog
until his flat teeth
caught on his tongue,
as he lolls it at me,
with his fat cow-head.
I was thinking of your coat-tails,
and what if you had them,
I'd hang tight onto them,
even as you pissed in the alley,
until you swept me into
the well-walked world of your sleep.
And hid me from bad men,
hid me from bright lights,
hid me from car wrecks and Christians.
And those pin-pricking persecutions
that drool from the mouth
of the quiet devil's minions.
They don't know he has them.
They don't know he has them.
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