Flamingo Drowning

I really like this new jam but every band has its rocky times,

songs and wires wrenched with pliers from a rusty metal bolt.

The tires hadn’t been changed in so long that they were rusted to the plates,

and so there we were jumping up and down on the crank of the jack

hoping we don’t crack it’s joint, the coal bin flue,

the bayou crew of crustacean cobwebs,

mossy beds of katydid and locust stew.

The red weather brew of old southern pilots who are drunken down old wrecks of solder,

ill farm fodder on the wood stove for dinner,

you’re supposed to eat it right out of the tin foil but she put it on a plate first,

the worst would be leaving my cat behind; I could deal with my ferrets but not Luna.

What was that about landing among the mouse in the bucket of milk?

Christopher Walken talking antelope about champagne and lions in the Wardrobe.

She said boy come inside the fence and bust up this old chiffarobe for me and I’ll give you a nickel, and next thing you know she’s yelling in the courtroom about Daddy saying whodunit, whodunit—

I hear real nice in a sarcastic tone from downstairs in the kitchen,

wooden spoons and pots-and-pans in the kitchen.

I think it’s a mixture of snow and freezing rain,

she’s heading south I don’t know what the weather’s like down there,

do you see what it’s doing out there? but I don’t think it’s sticking to the roads.

I watched WJZ-13 this morning for the first time in years and Marty Bass is gone but he always rubbed me the wrong way anyway.

I used to hate on Monday mornings they would get a bunch of Baltimorons to stand out in the freezing cold and sing just another manic Monday, woah-uh-oh, wish it was Sundaaay—shut up already I don’t need to be reminded that it’s Monday, I just want the Goddamn news.

Even with the window open the tar fills the room and I instantly start producing green mucus; I am perpetually sick with being in the warm water all the time.

You can park two minutes for a dime, which may or may not be ample time to get your shit and wait in line at 7-11, those go-go taquitos are the shit, 

Item 9 is the bees knees, why are we under ground right now? why aren’t we in a field?

I’m in the weird part of youtube again, quickly navigate away, lets look up lulz friendly memes instead.

It hurts so good snorting blue pixie sticks across two desks,

he was fine at first and then he starts coughing and sneezing all this blue shit

and the seniors talk him into climbing a tree so they can pelt him with snowballs

and girls give him blue balls when they take him half the way there

she tied him to her kitchen chair and he liked it bitch boy

which boy, rude boy, unequivocally revolting parrot molting

with sand in places I didn’t know I had--

I know I’m not making any sense but this is all I can do to make sense of my brain’s constant evolving.  I have these moments where I sharply feel the shifting of my magnetic poles, piercing my brain, and it’s almost painful but each time I recognize what is occurring and I am learning how to learn again.

My feet will still be planted firmly on the cold ground,

the winter sight of white sky stadium lights,

the snow between muted pops of batted Converses

and shots of Fireball cinnamon whiskey.

It’s about relaxing the muscles to loosen the gag reflex:

expectorant cough medicine and anal lube,

the after which effect is Anthony Weiner boning Rick Santorum like a hound hog,

squeal for me Ricky-Dicky-Tavi, soooo-wee! out of Burroughs night-capade,

The medieval escalade up the fortified walls of West Burgundy,

we captured Princess Peach and held her for ransom with Natalee Holloway.

I think about you when I’m taking a shit, in the sense of removing waste.

It’s a good time for meditation, the one room in the house where an eight year old boy

can sit in privacy and decode Little Orphan Annie’s secret message,

a crummy commercial hanging like a bat in the plywood shed,

the sea groan bed of coral and dead fish of Father’s hands

are Japanese fisherman, plying thin black netting from the grey sea

to find it empty and tonight his daughters go hungry, to understand emptiness he says,

the fetid sense of a musky old cottage perched on precarious cliff edge

Sakamoto sea standing fiercely its watery ground,

the earth pounded by tide as a lying child caught foxing the neighbor’s chickens.

Killing kittens is the first sign of a future serial killer

and someone found a cat skin at the pumping station

where an old Susquehannock man used to live before our houses were built,

Rocks State Park was a sacred ceremonial ground,

a natural outcrop so you want to stand on the edge and hold up Simba to the sun,

watch the antelopes bow the elephants as one,

everywhere the light touches except the armpit of America is New Jersey.

In a Facebook survey, people voted that Snooki was a worse role model for girls than Kim Kardashian, but it was close by only six percentage points,

count calories, watch food intake, maybe take a break for a week from drinking when it’s been one of those nights, and one of those mornings.

The best thing about him is that he will cook you breakfast in the morning,

but the dude has a serious Napoleon complex.

I might as well have stayed at home with my vibrator.

It goes on like that for four days and three nights of hard use

and eating little more than trail mix and gold fish,

whatever floats your boat, forget me not,

toss me in the pot with my feathers still on.