Legless, with the powerder puff
You’ve got light, still cannot read
And the mattress is two bored-out eyes
Supposed to be a lightening bolt
But as I lie in bed
It’s been middle class
Middle thoughts, middle as 
Tantric forms of intercourse
No divorce, [bad word] as a horse
And the waitress is the only one
Who can speak and say what she means
As I lie awake
It’s been Camelot
I can a lot, it’s kennel and key

As she’s waiting
Stroking my hair
Choking places
Stroking my tie

Princes with the dollar eyes
Morning fries and light-up TV
And advances in the sweater vest
Picking homes, picking out cheese
As i lie to them
Second wallabee
Second son
What happened to me