Tuesday, 10 March 2015

Cosmos Sailing With A Kettle And His Best-Friend's Bark

Post No Bills,
The Dogs Of Stardom Are UnLeashed And UnFixed,
Broken With DollHouse Ribbons And Curling Irons,
Heaveing The World Above The Cookie Jar,
For That Stuffed Beaver To Reflect Over Its Flooded Banks,
Adorned With A Circle Of Squares And Macaroni-Glittering On Construction Paper,
Turkey Emperors To Hustle Eight Year Olds In FoosBall'd Potato-Chip Scams,
Tie-Dyed And Flagged With An AirBrushed Economy... Smokeing Ass By The Lake,
Rat-Tails And Pirate-Secret HandShakes...
...
Suppose The Situation Fails To Teach Whales A Drunken Sailor's Charms,
Then What?... The Years Abroad Could Lead To Jealousy Amongst The Ranks,
Dead Puppies And Higher Insurance Premiums For Those Barn Doors,
It Was Bad Enough With Hay-Fever And HighWay Robbery On The Old Silk Road,
All That Sacrifice To Get The Wheat To The Elevator,
With No Thanks To Those Fishing For Second-Hand Suckers And Full-Monty'd Bliss,
The Truck-Stop's Got Plenty Of Desperate Princesses With Three Dollar Bottles Of EyeLiner,
What If The Cruise Stopped And Let Off Its Passengers?...
...
Chirpings From The Green Wilderness,
Queer Sowings Of FlatBush'd Jousts... Another Good Reason To Hang A Jesuit Cunt,
As He Cherry-Picks By The Plate Of Crackers And Cheese,
As Those Stairs Creak Under The Cracking Soles For The Shakeing Of Virility's God-Given Leg,
To Pitch The Boy's Life And Pass Around Comic Books To Get Soggy,
Bitch In The Stiff Starch And Beg For Shoes To Get Polished,
While Looking Down At The Clues By The Patent Leather,
Witnessing The Crossing Of Shiney Loafers To Squeak Before The Hall To Persuade...
...
Another Trick To Sugar-Up That OffRoad Vehicle For A Manned Mission,
Grease Back The Face For Camouflaged Day-Dreamers And Day-Light Discounts,
Dark Clouds In The Bag For Departed Clowns To Wear Out Blue Jeans,
Maturity's Clones... Sarcasm, And Its Brother Cynicism... In That Last Ditch,
And There It Is...
...
Your One True Balloon Ride...  Its Trip Is Tucked Under Your Cuff And Pinned,
Strung Up Like A Parachute's RipCord For That One Pull...
...
Hey... Yeah, You...
...
...
You Have To Toss It InTo The Tree,
So The Bears Don't Get To It.






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