In Silver Lake two sunsets veil
ten techniques to make the bail
I hear it happens every day.
As Texas stars begin to fade,
embarassed patrons, overpaid,
feel entitled to anything that comes they're way.
Still, unsullied lines and browns collide.
Persistent crease, your skin, revised,
olive and otherwise.
In race conditions, no consequence;
with a pouty trance you ask to dance.
But hey,
no one ever dances anyway.
In two-tone lit
reverse amone lighter tricks,
I can't rehearse
the proper lines or appropriate verse,
so i've got nothing new to say.