little trick, happy brick

Caltrain goes up.
Caltrain goes down.

It's crude, the oil, the dust, the dirt,
and grime you can't wipe off your skirt.

Slurp. Don't. Stir.

Go you to the world's manger.
Spyglasses on high, hung from the scrapers.

Don't think that you can fool me meek.
You'll be lost to earth and love and heat,
and all that lives will forget you beat.

Laugh! God damn you, laugh!