*[Enter a] Laid back “Chia-Pet” from way back… (Face plant)
I ate off of con men like “no trade back” place mats.
From Gabe’s moon’s orbit to dark projects morbid
there’s no forfeit.
“…Get absorbent or get to being corpses…”
I’m as horrid as foreign… Check the pass portage.
“Call security Doug!”
(No part’s part of your club.)
If I was made in Taiwan, my guidon would fly on
a pillar of “hi Moms,” Micro minded. (Mental ion)
I’m on, but not on my own shit, like shape shift
“Nay say and intake eight dicks!”
I can see they hate this…
…can’t fade this… (No chop shop)
Eraser faces get nibbled on like hot wings or pork chops.
(Ride on by at 9:09.)
“My oh my… Why oh why?!?”
*Animal farm [and] Caesar’s got a clever trying to dine on swine.
My life story’s an allegory
and so gory. [It’s] Animorphing.
I’m left to find the room to make them ambulatory.
I’ve got every piece flat of my bright orange race track.
Even the round-about that I stole from the kid around the way. (Man…)
…In other words I’m all in…[I] Missed the boat but crawled in…
…Doggy paddled my way passed my grave
while greased wheels spin.
I low fived Poseidon.
*Ray Liotta style
“Good looking out though…”
My name isn’t Johnny but the pipes keep calling me out though.
*Smashing high notes (like I was an alto.)
“…The tight rope’s far from parallel.” (I’ll be damned if I fall though…)
“This shit sucks!”
[It] Grasps at straws like greedy love birds…
*[Enter] the rather burly fury of Mother Hubbard
*Expose the gun show
(with romance novel structure –
– I’d prefer to keep the main attraction under covers –
– to tickle imaginations)
Imagine your infatuation.
You probably picture me as an amber jaded animation.
Slice antiquated magazines for jagged placement
[of] collaged features, just don’t expect any affirmation.
I’m a virtuous patient staying patient because it’s a virtue.
I’ll hurry up and wait, nod along like I really heard you,
ignore the curse clues and even except the absurd, too.
(Just don’t ask me to accept that my life decisions concern you.)
There’s not a piece of me that will reside peacefully
in a scenery as passive as the greenery.
Equally, I feel a fool while out of touch,
being a black smudge and throwing my hands up.
Passed what was once my goals.
Passed my prime (passed warm) like ash coals.
[I] look like a man. (With a crab’s soul.)
“Ass hole?” – I’m a whole ass that laughs bold.
“Mole man?” I’m deeper then Marilyn Monroe’s
[Wielding] An obsidian limb conditioned to carry and hold.
*Wave it at the prime meridians of invalids (who go –
too far from their homeland of “do what you’re told.”)
[I’m] Proud actions mixed with passion.
If you get to clashing, I’ll get my can of whoop-ass and
*Punch meat (like Rocky Tiger Eyes.)
…Hit you where my lighter lies and leave you seeing stars like fireflys.
“’Bout time to retire”
*I pack up my crops in a box
(I call them props and load them up on a packing mule or an ox)