On the bus to nowhere, yr face smooth in the shadow
but its around you, the haze
i can smell it.

yr eyes are blue blazing things
in yr smooth baby face
burning in the fire of junk.

keep my eyes away from you because i know it will get me
that tractor beam of poppies
you don’t move but to lift it up and lift it up
the gibbering junkie laugh

ah shit you got me and im caught
but you dont see me thru the haze
get off the bus, man yer wasted
yr eyes burning with cold junk fire

standing at the corner of Birch and Lurch
yr baby face creased with the lines of yr life
mouth open and working spit streaming
tears dont dampen the fire

ill watch you as long as i am able but you dont see me
yer staring off into the desperate infinity of junk
and you know its touch and it knows yours
its you and its forever and you wish you would die
i wish you would die

-Immelman

…And this panel asks you,
‘To what degree does your faith define you?”
the bluish grit of the television screen
[men pasty pale and sweating]

Maaaaaaaa like a sheep

cuts through the sleepy living room dust storm.
They will tell you what they know you want to hear
As soon as it is said, it is forgotten and twisted

oh i never said that, did i say that? what i meant was mnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
that’s right, tighten yr belt because you just became the hundredth sheep
and these sheep are starving

-Immelman

In the last gasp of daylight yer there

With yr daughter in your hand

Playin at the bruised-apple park until dark.

Ya jump in yr minvan and ball that jack

ALL THE WAY ACROSS THAT STREET

-Immelman