Danny wasn't human. Danny wasn't close,
Danny wasn't sure of anything
Danny had no ghost. He couldn't throw a shadow
if it weighed only a gram. He couldn't
do stairs and he couldn't sit or stand.
Danny had no conscience.
Danny had no pitch. If Danny could compile,
he'd do it with a hitch. Danny never slept.
He couldn't try to eat. If he wasn't strapped
he wouldn't find his seat. He swore too much,
he cupped his nuts, he never kept his head.
He beat on bins, he hit the bricks,
he chewed on chips of lead.
Danny was in to mercury, starships,
and short day dreams.
Danny never first date kissed,
never sorted or cleaned.
Danny was a window licker
with no sense of rhyme or theme.
He was a little bit of straight line power.
A little bit of speed. A little bit of
fuck tomorrow. A little bit of need.
Sometimes he got it going.
Sometimes he went face first.
Sometimes he went too often
into the pitch of night.
Sometimes I wish that only once,
Danny could get it right.
