8605. HENRY WINKLER NOTHING MATTERS

HENRY WINKLER 

NOTHING MATTERS

Driving this cow through the showroom window,

I took out two couches and a chest of drawers

The guy selling cars got angry. The two

skateboards kids thought it was great.

-

So, there I was, with blood on my hands

and a piece of glass as large as Idaho. The

coffee machine was on, and I grabbed a cup  - 

typical car-sales-room crud  -  tasting like

steel pickles in an iron-foundry lunch.

-

There's a sweeter horizon somewhere, and

I'm bound-out to find it. Playing checkers on

the noon-bound train, the guy and girl who

just passed me were already walking the aisle.

Isn't that why we do everything? For sex

and glory and all that they bring? Henry 

Winkler, it don't mean a thing.