Somewhere Down Shredlin Alley

The eyes see sweet and the tongue tastes dark
As a rust-tinged lawnmower puffs along
Held in the hands of the Skeleton Man
Dialing on home down Shredlin Alley
The spectator spot that runs the drive
Has children flailing school-cuff hours
And birds sleep strolling with hats and canes
Down and up and down through Shredlin Alley
The Skeleton Man trims rose and weeds
For passerby fish of his home of leaves
Glued in the corner plush pink with rot
That fills the nose of Shredlin Alley
Dark as day as day as night
That cups his tears conveyored out
While his gray escape goat chomps the knees
Atop the fruity trees of Shredlin Alley
Tin rocks and pans eschewed by practically all
Bend to form the ground and tap with the man
Whose bones shine bright and tall atop of the clan
Spurred left and in down Shredlin Alley
He pipes a cigar with his feet all a dangle
Minding dots he can spot from the roof
Tips his hats to the silence of screams
Now another day in Shredlin Alley
A vertical harmonica blaring the scene
Caught unclothed in the horizon beam
The Skeleton Man in heaps of red coughs
Plays the rug jazz of Shredlin Alley
He rough pin pokes a sweater the final day
Nodding heads to the lamb dots bulldozing away
Swiping one more gasp of clear as rubble consumes
The spot where down once stood Shredlin Alley