Has not improved my access to Grown Up Things
Lock ups. Going to lock up in a Cortina. With a sheepskin on.
Freshly purchased pine tree fetish dangling from the mirror.
Sunday morning with regret hiding on the belly of a hangover sheep.
Avoiding the Cyclops.
Everything seeming right.
As you look in an ashtray
And eat an egg.
Someone knocking at your door.
All of a sudden.
Coming in, on an astral glide
Swearing a bit
For the kids
Then off to the back yard
The supergreen dungeon
Then maybe leaving down the back alley
After a whisper session.
Loneliness in the form of a fridge. Or a razor blade. Fearing a foamy face.
Pure unmotivated phone calls.
Oil. On hands.
Passing through somewhere concrete and not thinking too much about concrete.
A long nap. Full of blood. And guts.
Newspaper lying strangled to death on the floor.