Bed To The Bills

Day day day day…
Day day day day…
The next day
The exact same nurse is standing with her back to me at every last
Every last passing bus stop (x4)
Only this time, what looks like a small stack of bills with bat wings
Hovering just beside her
They’re bound together by a narrow wishbone,
beneath it rests a large
indifferent fruit waxen looking still
Atop a three quarter length corinthian column
To the left, is a rather fit «right» woman’s left leg,
buried thigh deep in the hallowed and wood-chip topped bus stop grounds
The planted lady’s leg looking clean shaven and hot
sweat beading up about its calf in the black avenue amplified sun
an eye blue high heel jut in full bloom on its visible end
And so you get off
to find two suits arguing silent
before a double-parked and obviously unmarked cop car
the blown-up head flesh of two big business men, a-hover above them
a good foot or two of twine dangling from their tied off throats,
running down into their hollowed dress shirt collar mouths
You over hear them mutter something serious about
the second hand emotion
and then comes something like semi-poetic directions
a ways down commerce. then turn, dead straight into ashe
And so you walk,
predicting all possible presents in ever to bits, and back
from the bed to the bills you see nothing but
pit within (x10)
So long gone (x8)
From the bed to the bills you see nothing but pit within pit
And an undeniable feeding
From the bed to the bills you see nothing but pit within pit
And more this
A honey smothered hand gun all covered in ants,
trembles on a three quarter length corinthian column