Tuesday, May 15, 2012

If Tom Waits is an Archangel, then I'm a Neurosurgeon


The black tar in his head was more than he could handle.

Toe-tappin fun with his fingers deep in some dude's brain.

"Look what happens when I poke him here....Guy near beat himself out cold.  Good times.  Good times."

Air drummin' with a scalpel and scissors.  Little dewy drops of blood flickin' on everybody - the nurse's shirt pocket, Scalpy-guy's face, the wall.

Now it flows.  Yeah.  The music.  A cool crisp stream within the sludge.

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