Social Struggle -- Albert Mobilio

Commandment breaker, look at you:
bedroom lures and tight-toed shoes
Rise up without a word
on this sixth day of windshield stain

The season seeps beneath my hat,
semi-private, semi-circling thoughts
A headful of commas when you
talk as if stirring a drink with your tongue

We're mixing at the mixer
The mushrooms feel kind and pretty
faces fresh from tweezers get the nod
I used to be cock o' the walk, you know

Something in your toolbox tells me
I'm going to get a beating
Bone spurs, then greasy noise
I'm what they call an nerve-racking reactor

The dancefloor's thick with masterminds
who can tenderize your slang
I want to be ready when the cry goes up,
I'm going to get ready to cry

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