A hillbilly, no a born again
bigot, with newspaper eyes and
crows feet etched on his shoulder blades...
"Dylan?" he mutters, from ear-to-
ear, as though chewing on the thought
formed in open-space as green-eyed
grad. students flutter about the
hoping to get some of that undergrad. ass.
"its a miracle, a fuck'm miracle" he chews,
jumping on the spot, crow screeching, c(l)awing,
k-k-k-umm, no...kancer of the mind
pointing to the Heavens, iridescent, gleaming
over a two-pound chicky-dee, yeah, well
never look a gift horse in the ass
might s(h)it on you, yes, you
lay-lady lay...lay upon a smoking grass bed.
quote me "spoke the earnest man, earnestly
resting on the downy earth".
Sister Agath-ommo-nagather, well
Timmy the Tool sure tooled her.
U-oy kids though, slippin' on the leaves,
vacillating over the holy
whores of Chris, well, drunk and pissing really...
X-marks the spot.
Y? is the groove to which he "Dylans"
Zebras dance by, pedestrians try and walk on 'em. ?eah.