Moderate hip hop beat
Give me liberty or white phosphorus in the key of demented crack pipe antics in the midland wastes. Pill mill boyz with cheap guns thumbing gangs signs. But they don’t mean it. What a tubal ligation means to a deadbeat’s daughter in the coming correction. Population implosion and the lost ark of providence at cross purpose.
Body surfing the slick on the left coast. Fog horns and waves lapping greasy shorebird carcasses. Bleached white. Watch your step. Regards to the avatar, calling bright green shells down on anyone deaf or dumb enough to still be home. Cone of fire. Collateral hopscotch soccer ball. Wingman clanging bombay dingbat. Chewing gum diplomacy in the wake of Armageddon at the oasis. We are your democracy. Kiss the ring.
Arm chair mothers blanch at heaped bodies and hollow eyed shopkeepers smoking acrid hand-rolled something, scraped up from the floor of a crashed helicopter. Flickering ancestral cave fire packed in a handheld nickelodeon. Can’t look away.
Lady Liberty falling through an antique skylight in slow motion. Shards of falling far far far to the tweed and mahogany halls of higher calling. These are not the facts you are looking for. This is the blood in your head and the news of the world. Where’s my goddamned martini? Who cares if it’s a particle or a wave when it’s burning flesh to the bone? Someone is having a worse day than I am.
