locale bart smock the wrong thing happens. it steals your drink & buys you a shadow. it drags the dog dead on its chain for a walk. it puts a whole fist in the mouth becomes gravel      feeds us for weeks. this scratched country on the counter shines. I am in the aisle I am drive thru mad you carry what you can't pick up      america, shards of lipstick highlight your knees, you kiss the right places / oh how      the wrong thing happens.