at the mat
cause certain things
just ain't figured out yet
twisting a smoke in them bones
I don't feel it too much
like anything --nothing isn't
always wasn't
stuck in this town now
to be stared at for a year
and in between sour grumbles
to hoof it or bus it or pluck it
stay busy and lucky
don't come over here
there's nothing to drink and no one to see
stare through my little chest
you can't see me
the horses are on the floor
but soon they'll be on the wall
hangin' around in a funk that always hangs around
counting down the months already
all ready to go and not even unpacked
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