Robert Francis I Like The Air
Filed down coffins in the neighborhood. A Spanish girl walking by the cemetery wood.
Five in the pan, we do what we can though it ain’t right.
A fat man sitting on the side of his remote, his daughter’s in the kitchen trying to clean his coat,
I bet she can’t.
The rattle of a bottle on a warped wooden desk, shaking back and forth beside my bated breath.
A blind girl laughing while I stare at her chest, I’m in the zone.
I won’t survive if I make it out alive.
Seven/ten split, I don’t got…
Down on Main Street, I got friends waiting there.
I don’t need no drop off girls.
I like the air.
Elysian Park through the dark about a mile.
A little white girl with a Bobby King smile.
Blue little bags she says she knows I’m feeling bad I’m worth your while.
But here ‘tween the palette feelings I don’t understand, cardboard cutouts, just be a man.
Have fun walking home in Mike Davis land.
Pull the wool over my eyes.
I don’t want to understand.
I like the trees, the army and the colors that they wear, they like to scare.
A few blocks home from remembering my name, a few blocks home.
Down on Main Street, I got friends waiting there.
I don’t need no drop off girls, I like the air.
