The happy dregs
of the welfare state
sung out of garbled computer speakers
and an oldass cellphone.
The happy spring
turned sticky summer
a sticky subject stuck on the bootheels of old south st louis.
She said 'yr grammer is all wrong'
she said 'you don't care about me'
I said I'm stoned on television dope,
I'm fucking high on the internet
I've got a tv eye
and all my friends are as depressed as you are
behind computer avatars.
Somewhere the suburban poor are eating candybars for lunch
and the dregs of nature float lazily down the industrial section of the Missouri river.
'I'm in love with you
I'm just feeling sortof weird,"
'I love you too'
"I love you too goddamnit baby".