From the height of the highway onramp we saw,
Two dogs, dead in a field,
Glowing on the oakland coliseum green seats wasteland,
Dogs, dogs we thought were dead,
They rose up, rose up when whistled at, their rib cage inflating like men on the beach being photographed,
A guard dog, guard dog, for what? for what?
Against tofers ellis pennyless athletics fanatics,
Getting into games through a whole in the fence,
For the owner of the blue tarp tent,
Pitched by a creek beneath an onramp,
In the privacy of the last three,
Skin and bony tree, devoid of leaves,
And us undeceased, and our new cds,
Dippin' on goodies, oakland

A spider spitting web on a Styrofoam snowman's head
Car salesmen asleep in their cars on lunch-break
Under the highway on-ramp
The x-ray of someone's tumored skull
Left to scream doom from the gutter, with all the other
Preventative waste, no name, no face
All the oil drills on some sick sedated rhythmic robot
Rape mode like brainwashed flies at a carcass
The highway shoulder dead dog's fly devoured eyeballs
As garnish to a fourlane state road
And all the southern Cali orange trucks headed to somewhere there's winter
One armed men changing tires in the shoulder
For pretty ladies and their well dressed daughters
Engine oil boiling, undercarriage eaten by a million ants of rust
Bacteria gangbanging in the window cracks