The Final Boss Of Lawn Clippings

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And I’m insanely jealous of the people who aren’t me
— The Soft Boys
I don’t understand not having anything to work on
the day I’m trapped in obsolete Kodachrome
everybody looks ridiculous in summer’s cloaca
the day I’m holding myself together with duct tape
and mindfulness, final boss of lawn clippings
I don’t understand not being in love with being in
or crossing Seymour Street with my eyes closed
everything looks delicious when you’re hungry
but I don’t condone these fake crusades
the people who can’t get laid dress up for
I look good without clothes at your window
tap-tap-tapping my ever cheerful beat
I don’t understand how I became prince of sun-gored days
but I paid for it with my mind