full service love kafka character: part II


kevin costello, brother matt, matt wascovich and mike watt


day by day, tossing the expectations
23 . . . short skirt .. .. .. bright g string/spot ... ... front row
no longer living brave
the A/C on in the din of strip club land


today might be the only day that gets done
she giggled, "you nasty man"
bums passing beers on the parkbench
gun in the back blues


Who are you being?
thinking how long America will conquer
shaving all morning away the weekend
peeking and finding which face in the mirror?


clearer fears her ever still nearer?
wallet full of pride
tan khakis and loafers
in the center middle balance, where it spins atop a finger


like a young squirrel tamer's nonstop nipping yapper
on the downbeat he was
punching up the crankline winder
and having very real dreams of dogs salivating


the sun rises and sets, the big life divider
in the summer garden, the babysitter sits on babies
backyard experiments with rockets
spinning record trying to be like richard hell


grown man eating hostess donettes
counting calories like a sickness
harpooning your regular moves
burn down your comfort zone


the ways of the clock have drifted for watt
tearing each day away and yessing
throwing away the piss bag warming up the hands
yonder ripe rich thumpin' season sparks await return of dancing thunder


where do flies go at night?
inside the womb of trees and
thus spake Gott:
his head is a bucket, the world: his mop


wheelin' and dealin', then kneeling and squealing
peels and heals the ways that he feels
to the chuggin' and huggin' of daylight shifter bars
to mars, to see stars from the passin cars


hold your card you cheap trick
the center holds last, the center holds true?
the school kids cant hear the falconer
the sweetest meat is closest to the bone


Come on! break it down
the Pedro 2-step: one step forward, two steps back
getting all backwards, thinking that's free
hungry now and only enough money to read books


like ghostly midnight truckers speeding on pills
beggin' the sails to heave up the breeze
solid as a steel pipe in a clean sheet
his life is a pattern of roadside stops


gin on my gums
he snaps like a rubber band
stuffed in the eye of the storm of the claptrap
encore wearing party hats


rain has stopped this Tuesday
backing up the backfire, dodging the blowback
broken spokes on the dharma wheel
jeez, do you smell something funky, boss?


busy bee at royal palms, sunny swell, my heaven
in a white tee shirt
playing the saying never missing a beat
waiting to stand up and be something


clicks on his peep pose
thick w/the tongue through the teeth
"ya can't truss it!"
I'm an ass-kicking pirate and you've wrecked on my reef


squatter home in the central city
all day long not wearing socks
pie filling incrusted in crusts of the rusted
plum loco, don't stick your thumb in here


country club clambake w/ crab cake; I feel like tacos
pockets of nougats, seemingly centered
Bob sings he's hardly getting used to it at the
night cars moving and doing so feelingly


backstage origami fun unfolds dick puppet dragon show theater games
Vegas electrician in sweaty trousers
found bundled in middles of bundles of bindles
a swan named lu lu


the inside man clock, hands on his hips
monkeyfist key chain dangles down like a third nut hangin'
dancing to the drone of "there's some hoes in this house!"
goes through life w/ requisite zeal


....and God said,"Cool or Lame, it's your choice, dude."
w/po-po swagger says
step aside mutha fucka
teapot or sugar bowl, what is his trip?


he's startin' us sallyin' forth w/a form
sweet honeysuckle moonlight mudflap silhouettes
shadowing past
he can't shake the funk


in nyc trane sits under bad light
reacting to blanks giving birth for the next number
to miles davis on the hi fi in a silent way
the girls in the back giving their boyfriends hummers


skateboarders on the church steps
against Cleveland cold
fighting the numbness, using the role of a plumber
the pope likes to eat pizza when burnin' a number


sunday morning spirituals : headboard keeps banging
sad, sad, sad,
she longed to have her poems feel like fucking
plumbing the plumb bob by picking it's hanging


my mermaid's tail
and barry white's baby blue panties
mermaid senses structural damage saying
a hanging what's hanging fore or aft of the wagon?


mournful moan from the shower
thinking the job must Ębe done
worked away thrice, countersinking the worm hole
osmosis made me a Mexican


under hooded blue sweatshirt thinking
each second's a second falling backwards all bashful
worried about his mom's mantra:
rehab is for quitters


to one free to begun spitting out a new mouthful
half my gargle beats his whole diss
am mad now for lonely sax and
remember, friends : love thy neighbor

who wrote which line?

copyright © 2000 full service love kafka character crew

all rights reserved

part I

part III

loop back to mike watt's hoot page

this page created 5 apr 00