Swamp Gas

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Is the Servìce Comprìs?
A tribute to a working wasteland
Orange and carpets for the walking dead
Poor Pete the tragic hero magic dragon flies.

Manipulating the paper clip
Its brain of chrome all twisted up its ass
Boss lady like a golf ball through the garden hose
Clean sucked dry of chrome and polished to the tip.

One fine day she had a head, red as blood
All the villains played, surrendered theirs as ransom
Some say she’s God, just not as great which makes her mad
Mothered brother runaway the orphanage destroyed.

Gonads confused and angry sad since birth
The little red pearl, not Steinbeck’s ink
Adjusted by the knife ordered by another
Dreaming of a man not cursed with dearth.

Business if it happened had to hide away
Confessing confusion, Daddy told her not today.
Numbers never mattered Mondays hiding from the minds
Business in the modern era, clowns climbed down to play.

Men surprised fall down dead soldier
Their sperm extracted then redacted
Nitro is the process of the bully way
Render the unwanted leave the smell for Omaha.

Her and flying demons share the strap
In batteries they do rust so they scheme ahead
Fearing toothless snaggleteeth the frenzy of it all
Breaks the corner glass with Davie’s sleezy tap.

She steals the keys and squeezes bullocks tight
What story clothes the mistress dancing Nancy?
Is it the softer tell beneath the mossy stone
Sticky slime so sly reveals its reeking rotten riot.

Betrays the crowd leading loud a world berserk
When at last the end relents, her scissors dull
Totes the breast and face how heavy was the lift?
One thing now tight her might to spread her dirty smirk.

We scrub the mud, can’t touch the filth that feed her blood
Make believing world of falsity, punch bowls full of acid sluice
Tongues trained to wag by dogs hawk toilet paper survey data
Wild tails blow grimy air so dank, soiled by heaven’s flood.

Nothing pays the bills, hidden from our view, who knew?
Instant panting saying please and thank you now you know
What she really wants, our blood all of ours to spill
Her thirst is never slaked even as she laps another stew.

Investigation circles downward dogs with evil witches
Insubstantiated incantations, cannot turn the muck to blonde
We curse her ruddy moon drinking Jenna’s Jameson
She conquered by a tit gone dry, then she sneaked away in britches.

Facade betrays deceit, its secret has no guarantee
Its burden, stolen treasure worse the crime it’s wasted
Our blood’s dead journey flows into a sea of laughing
Jokers sadly tell, service such as this is never free.

In the darkness of deserving, she will not find rest.
Sorry monsieur, Servìce non Comprìs.



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