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the best chance to pick fights
is in the midwest
with your mouth fat
on your own words
in the parking lots
of the worst clubs
with fresh laid asphault
and flourescent lights that flicker.
while the boys drink courage
and the girls show their navals and toes,
you don't need no curses,
no squinched up nose
or turned up top lip,
no cut throat kicking
kids' sandcastles,
spit, and "fuck you" talk.
you need only to arrive
at your own show in
glasses and open-toe sandals
and step out the van all
weak with a tour-worn voice
when you try to speak.
with your mouth fat
on your own words
but you can't be heard
over the noise of the opening act,
some wack rapper coming off c.d.
could've been me
back before we
practiced for the mush tour.
