The Stomach of a Waitress

[wagravity]

touche to the mustache
stuck in potato skins
grown from the stomach of a waitress
she never really cared
she never really noticed

an undertow forms under toes
suck me in to melody
for deflecting bullets with machettes
is impossible
it's improbable

coffee glasses and champaign mugs
used as portholes, i see clearly
as the piano stares me down
it's so intimidating
not so complicating

rush an ambulance to the graveyard
i think someone is dead there
tip-toe through the roses
they shine so bright
when dusk becomes night

temptation of nicotine swells my ears
like the potato skins
grown from the stomach of the waitress
i never really noticed that
she never really cared