Soup line dancing, for

fun on faulty sprang sprungs

He was in on the

Dylan phaser, from tonight forward

we were not to be trusted with our

duties. an endless parade of donut

holes sporting their sporty

sport coats. And I was there.

The dynamite stacked

in an ominous way. Anachronistic

Anarchist cohort studies applied;

the beast blessed the beastial, this

of course, a systemic design. Intelligent,

I will deny I was there.

One man,

a million levers’ Justice. Representative,

of parabolic banana peels. The dead seal

‘s parsed in the adult theater,

names your name. And I, on business

in St. Louis.

Ozark beauties

bow-legged on the rundown Taliban feather

and tarred. The bar skank

waiting willingly. Bartender

make your shots count;

cold lead, tequila pump’s the jukebox dead.

When the giant foam finger points

I will follow, you sir,

to Xanadu and no further.