I'm lost in a parking lot on the left coast

w/an Afghan Kush and Grey Goose buzz

when Screamin' Jay Hawkins

jumps the Sierra's screaming:

"What can I do w/eighty-six kids

'n each momma wantin' my jam?!"

"Get in motherfucker!" I salvo,

kicking the gas like a mule bucks gravity.

Hurtling down coastal route one

w/an oft-subpoenaed legend in my car doesn't faze me.

Hell no! I expect these things from time to time,

the brain unhinged, the whole world gone batshit.

Screamin' Jay riffing in the passenger seat is no more nuts to me

than dumping poisons in the ocean to my left. Its vast sky

full w/the moans of our daughters' womb engines,

pumping out pilots, privates, and warlords

no one believes can win anymore.