Stench

Winding roads meet up
With the foul stench in the air.
This is New York...New Jersey...
A Tri-State hell on Earth.
Rats munch on what's left of
A pigeon that could no longer
Stand to associate with humans,
And inside those maroon guts
I can see a little of myself,
My own loathing
For a species I am forced
To call my own.
Walking down St. Mark's Place
I do a little soft shoe
To dodge the brainless punks
With orange mohawks
And green liberty spikes,
As they mosh with strangers
To the Aus Rotten in their heads;
I have to wonder
What "liberty" those spikes stand for
If they can't even free their minds
From a song they don't
Even own the CD for.
The light flickers in the window
Of Trash and Vaudville
As I stare wondering
What the two have to do
With each other.
Across the street a girl
Has Religious Sex with
A new skirt she could never
Possibly fit in to;
But who am I to judge
Her skany, fat ass?
I walk away from this
Silent festival of freaks
And geeks trying to be cool,
Or just frighten their parents,
Past Ricky's and the Fun House,
Wondering how metal
That dry cleaner's used to be.

Copyright 2002