Michael McGuire Junglehead
Detailed noise; ambitious fatigue, women; slit dress; exposed need,
draining the core; angel nest, dirty ambience; purified pest.
Man who smells like he hasn’t bathed in three weeks combs his hair to
perfection in reflection of restaurant window.
Got the jungle in my head, got the jungle in my head, the living wrecks
the petty dead, got the jungle in my head.
Business stomach; asphalt digest soul, casual impatience; high heels;
manhole, corrupt integrity; symbolic structure yield, erotic friction; day
work build.
Woman in a designer dress stumbles out of towering office building
crying out loud, tears freely falling, people pretend not to notice.
Got the jungle in my head, got the jungle in my head, the living wrecks
the petty dead, got the jungle in my head.
Just where is the shape of my being, in the schematics of this accident, I
feel like a ghost nobody’s scared of, I move thru this scene of oblivion
and light, I am focused like a shadow on it’s source, with nothing in my
head that feels like me.
Venomous pity; brick laid plans, reasons rush automated; epic lunch,
parking lot paradox; suicide drop, titans predators; game en masse.
A sound at first puzzling then recognized, saxophone, man plays from in
front of bank plaza the sound incongruous adds some kind of undeserved
dignity to the dirty ambience, I look into his face as I drive slowly past, he
is not like me he is not one of us.
