Numbers Game

Bloody Bill Anderson 

and Cole Younger

riding dirty on the hill

pulled a piece on a coolie

and drilled moonlight 

into his spleen.

Otto Berman and the Dutchman

up in a trendy matchbox dive

pour gasoline brandy down their throats

and pray they come up hot 

and pray they come up hard

and pray they go down shooting 

like a convulsing sprinkler

when somebody points at their

shit covered pecker

and says the obvious.

Every little fucker

lurking in the muck

thinks they're Pretty Boy Floyd

just trying to make ends meet

in a hard knock life.

The cemetery projects

are filled with wriggling maggots

cavorting gaily in young skeletons

who succeeded at making 

the wrong ends meet.

It's a numbers game

filled with idiot passions

and one by one

it always adds up

to zero.