King Cobra on a Saturday snake fair, poison arrows and elephant nose hairs. Open applesauce and spread on your knees with a spoon, until the paperbag princess returns with the moon while I'm upsetting the cart, insinuating ‘Is this art?’ while dessicated senior citizens lick envelopes and fart, dry-lipped and gas-ridden til they get fired from Walmart.
Beach Boy bottlenecks on the way to Wasaga, listless motorists limp-wristed and fey. Is there another way to the beach, to the sand to the ocean? How can I soar surrounded by turkeys, I’m growling and proud and my cataract’s murky. Glaucoma + gastro-intestinal problems + prostrate cancer – in fifty years I’ll be short of answers still as well as wrinkled and demented, but it’s better than being dead as a dingo, pimpled and lamented, extinguished too early for a lifetime not cemented cuz I was out chasing the girlies.
BTW - Cleopatra and Delilah are interchangeable names, heaving their bosoms and playing their games.
Boys are made of salt and mud. Cows are made of crabgrass. Girls are made from shampoo suds, and pigeons fertilize the shittyscape.
I can’t take the world in discrete arguments, I need curves and arcs, rhythm and flow; I need a ‘here it comes’ and I need a ‘there it goes’...
But guess who's the Gestapo? Hand me a pistachio. Senorita, please shave my mustache ! Tonight it's smooth fine-dining with an honourable lady from the radio, and so I'm renting a radiant silk tuxedo.
1 comment:
Here's to tonight! May the shampoo bubbles bloop from our mouths with satisfied sighs.
or somethin
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