Fragment of a darker poetry

In my spare time this week,actually just the last two nights, I've been working on a poetry cycle that is basically a little private therapy over a problem I'm not discussing and wouldn't be apparent even if I published the whole set. However, I thought I'd share one of those parts, a part that is different from the others in that A) where the others are designed to make sense only to me, this one is designed to make no sense whatsoever except in the once repeated tag line, and B) it has only tangentary involvement in the theme of the rest of the arc. So sit back; maestro, cue the music...

Friday nights full o' Mondays
we sit and wish on basement stars
one for luck, one for love, hold the lettuce
hold it here under my thumb
Tie your braids into long straight hair
I'll climb down the cleavage in your eyes
and you will know the meaning in my touch,
on the day the mimes are all struck dumb.

Golden gifts of baseball fortunes
lie in attic shoeboxes collecting dust
The child chewing Bazooka Joe
somehow grew up, and moved on
He left to you one last will and testimony
written on a ticket stub to last night's opera
did you understand the lady in the horned helmet
saying she's in love?

That's what I want to say to you,
but I don't know how.

(Doo-weee dough, ohhhh,
doo-weee dough, ohhhh)

I have a snakebit chocolate kiss on the bannister
I'm like graffiti that you won't write-
sometimes the blank wall, sometimes the old paint,
and sometimes the aerosol that's all leaked away
The sense of this, you don't make sense to me
You fit perfectly but I'm the wrong hole
squares and rounds, 'round the square in an echo
and I just feel so
out
of
town

That's what I want to say to you,
but I don't know how.

That's it, kids. let me know what you think.