ran


Your honor,
Ol’ Dirty Bastard is here
to represent the defendants,
Cocktails and Moses.

(wish to end all future messages by
vigilante nation of caped mercenaries)

before you die-hards run me out of Dodge,
please read the vertical response:
“you know you’d love a new ride –
cars, trucks, SUVs, convertibles, and Christ;
which will you choose?”

the new irrational exuberance trading policy
is a cobwebbed testament
to the old Pantera kids who would just throw each other

electrical auto-cadaver engineers
struck dumb by the sight of roast beef

Arizona cottage, alive with
the voices of Taipei,
part-time equinox in a retail shop
magical downtown adventures and the
flattened hearts sprinkled over Fifth Ave
(should’ve gone to Newark, less is more)

marijuana snowballs (keep ‘em! trade ‘em! collect ‘em!)
and polished jawbones of Andean llama breeders

the stupid syringe is broken

dateline: Benghazi –
rounds are fired into the atmosphere,
stench of Disneyland burning into wanderlust,
clickety-bang,
leaky roof,
bent axle,
railroad rust,
genocide in the Ivy Leagues

criminal deferred maintenance,
smoke signals from Chief Jay Strongbow
*insert required complacency here*
checkbook in hand,
lock me away, lock me away

secretary of war beats secretary of treasury in
Billy Joel Shouting Match,
sell your earlobes to the Hebrew party planners
and remember, as goes the kraken,
so goes Vancouver.

(a little birdie told me a hot potato,
a hot potato, a hot potato,
dragged outside in handcuffs,
rain of black mud, Faith No More on the speakers)

supper? unborn.
library? goose.
mine? unknown
now? moose.
the truth is
Jennifer Aniston.

come, son of Jor-El!
kneel before Zod!
(snoochie-bootchies)

looking back, I enjoyed the fish tacos,
and I miss pumpernickel bagels.

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