Cornstarch

you're like a critic/who wasn't sent a presskit

you can't conceive of anything to write

you're like a trained dog/who wasn't fed a biscuit

you won't perform for anyone tonight



you say you're lonely/but you won't let me visit

you say you're wounded/but you won't let me kiss it

but I can see/what you want from me

by the way your eyebrows arch

but I'd rather have it watered down

than thickened up with cornstarch



you're like psychic/who says the future's cloudy

you can't predict how all of this will end

you do a highkick/you hug me and say howdy

I'm not convinced that you're fit to be my friend



you say you're weary/and all your sleep is fretful

you say you're sorry/but you don't look regretful

and I can tell/there's a parallel

between soldiers on the march

as they overrun some border town

and the way you feed me...



who gets the backlash without all the hype

going straight from green to overripe?

you can fix me forever in your movable type

I would shout for assistance but you're flooding my windpipe with

cornstarch



you're on your knees/in your powder-blue pajamas

I'm making scenes/you're constructing dioramas

as you rehydrate/all your tears of hate

from their former state/as a concentrate

so the flavor's not so harsh

do you like your gravy rich and brown

and thickened up with cornstarch?