I’m just a grain
in your digicam waves.
Your sun plays sheriff
over my wild moonspill life.

Animated dust collides,
forming perestroika punk array.
My anger presides.

Nissan dreams In field of
aerosol, a marigold heaven.

It hurts, turn up the radio.
Versa like a hearse
when you’re driving me home.
I’m murked, turn up the radio.

I’m almost hereless in the
specificity of where I’m at,
making a groove in your side of the bed.

Your memory is weightless.
I’m laying in this place
where you once slept,
doing our differential calculus.

Fearless, easy, shining forth,
you carve a light through all directions.

It hurts, turn up the radio.
Versa like a hearse
when you’re driving me home.
I’m murked, turn up the radio.

Come winter,
if you’re unwed,
this cuffing season,
the whole Earth is
under your shadow.

Keep sluffing me off,
get me out of the way.
Keep buffing me off
for a brighter day.
Keep scrubbing me off
until I’m erased.
Keep mugging me off,
retire my name.
Keep pieing me off,
get me out of the way.