I carried my broken molar in a bottle of rola cola
I count the scratches on my glasses
and sit behind with the fresh-air fascists.
If only I owned some shoes with no holes in
and could chew on both sides of my mouth
I'd sidle my way across town to you and show you my splintering frown.
If you kiss me on my wooden teeth
and show me what you really think of me
there'll be nothing left but history
to be passed down through our collective memory.
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