sorry, we’re open

mick kelleher rides his bike through the detroit suburb

with a tshirt that says iowa

and his two year old behind him in a kiddie seat.

hes nearly forty now and as skinny as he was when 17

i think about how he warmed

the bench for the Flubs in the 70s and

he thinks that life is grand and i wanna die

i wanna have my skull crushed in a trash disposal unit

one whose walls close and metal squeals and wood snaps

and guts spews the cubs werent shit with him

and im not shit without you.

the fellas across the street sit on the abandon couch fat

drinking the new flavor of budweiser

talking about lots of people but not skinny number twenty

lie about lots of girls but not you

this girl had most of her hair shaved down there

better eyes well differnt at least

soft skin yawn

and even she talked of you

mick knows im a fool

and where are these destructo fields

where you walk on a blade of grass

and it slices you

where is this place called peace

where can i get more than a piece

i wanna quit young like mick

i wanna be your top draft pick

i wanna fuckin have it now

i wanna see the holy cows

bastitch + sahalie + annika