JOHNNY CASH

I've got a bumper sticker I'd like to whitewash
onto your face, maybe there near the tab for Birth

   Date, economics,
all the sliced cling peaches called consciousness. Tell me

   (I'm wearing
new contacts) detective . . . (I have to pick up a pocket flap)

Detective Muncie. What are they reading on the moon
these days? I don't think this glass has been properly

   cleaned, oh,
he had accents in his hair, poor Britney, he screamed,

getting pixelated, like with a big flat blue fishing lure
streaming out of his It's got spots, and it's got a feel to it

   like something
happened somewhere. The room kept getting emptier