I'm smarter than a chair, until it needs
red paint
Then I'm amazed in a forest of stares
Crying oil, and picking horsetail feathers
From my eyes
A grin of shadows press my face
I am a forger or a fake
Who dabs and bursts each blood-filled egg
And whips his raw steak of a brush into an X
I wanna quit with all my skin
But I can't find a place to sit with all this red
On my hands
Or even trace these slapdash tears back to
the start
I coat it twice, and thrice
I rub it on with tan lotion
And like a child, I let it stream
Watching it ebb, full of emotion
My neighbour stares, I'm red as Mars
(He's smarter than a can of paint)
'It looks real nice, he finally says
'And where's your lovely wife today?'
She's in the house baking a cake.