Beneath his eyes the newspaper Dripped thru his hands, With a head full of cheap cold medicine He's returned from beyond the 'way over there' His aluminum alloy twist-o-flex wrist band Biting into his skin A cotton swab full of ointment and gin He's mixing his X's with his Z's A syrupy cup on his shoulder, The plastic cap snaps back on the bottle, His hand too dozed to peel the label He wants to... His eyes blurred with antihistamine, He drops the bottle and looks out the window The day feverishly splinters into his eyes and hands, Miraculous awake and alive The burnt and broken head of a matchstick Lies dead asleep on the table The blade splits the pill in two And he starts to go home... Beneath his eyes the newspaper Dripped thru his hands, With a head full of cheap cold medicine He's returned from beyond The 'way over there' With a stomach chock full of holes