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Sally Ho
Yeah, Saddlebag Sally tuckin puckin in
Stuffed in herself a big turducken
Beaks blow out scruffy janitor toughness
Inanimate accomplice
Vibrating gigolo please pack roughness
Call the roughnecks, starship prospects
Super troopers hiring rejects
And make the top grade
First class renegades chug the Kool-aid
Lower the pay grade
Corrupt street parade, Paris parade
Lamborghini sexarosa on the street race

Prison Flower
Purty pursed pink resting in a pleasing smile, a cursive on the face. The font of amore, of youth, stilling life still my heart still picture. Flash flash capture the visage, can’t get enough, it tempers my dreams and memories. Lingering tails of red satin dress flowing gently across the mahogany floor, warmth in air sweeping along currents and folds of soft silky spectre. The Face, haunting taunting wanting evermore. Burn into my eyes this saintly sweet blossom blindingly bright against the dark dour environ of my prison.

Walls aplenty, stuck staccato concrete gray slabs pushing against tightends and linebackers encasing iron masked man in tomb swelled with regretful arias. Torture in here and torture out there, pain and sacrifice everywhere. See the face, lovely be, reach out hands to cup that cheek calling out to me. Fair fair the heroine maiden presently occupied languidly, throbbing veins on gentry, pull her so close to me. Sense scents and magnolias wafting from the bodice and chest, the elegant neck perfuming my smoker’s nostrils curing me of moody gloom. Smooth skin buttermilk wraps blush at my touch, my hands burst with excitement at fondling the tempter.

Pray Prey
Yeah, yeah, what’s the state of things Reverend? The little ones grew into selfish little shits parading their ignorance and arrogance in fanciful displays of ultra 4K delusions. Traps of apathy, egotism symbiosis and communication redux, mimic meme generation mimetically homogenized; milk bland vanilla kids propping themselves with media marketing uniforms. Essence of self splashed on young bodies, selfie onslaught mob parade individuality.

But the good. youthful exuberance, protests and kickstarters for positive purposes. Poverty weakens, rules strengthen in a two step one step square dance but only half of us participate. Will the newer generations finally get political? Vote dammit! Third parties, independents, make your voice more than a tweet among the cacophony. ALter the system to new imaginings that won’t get us stuck in red tape and centuries old laws. Nitpick the small details and boring procedures and rulings, they’re the crux, the ventricles of a starving heart. Kill legislation, bombard the offices, make old men quiver with the righteous anger of just cause just because.

Consuming consumers plagued by advertisers stamping their logos and mottos on every facet. Product placement for the purview, shop til you drop but the young wanna cop, why pay the self-important suit for distribution. Everyone struttin’, talk about being boss, wanna be boss, live boss. Every one so important, listen to me, I own you, getting paper like we major. Shallow idols teaching how to swim. Race each other and step on each other, that’s the programming block, Individualism, Ayn Rand exceptionalism with the necessary pulled strings. Connections be the thing, the social network pulls all in, always watching, we all advertise ourselves, a living resume on each site. Link it, Facebook it, turn into a demographic for mass cash transactions.

Maybe money used good, maybe good greed, maybe new creed. Coexist message and maybe religious hate faded, some still brainwashed but the others outpace it. No tainted youth military, false martyrs steady, conservative Christians on the way down, last hurrah and infantile screams at loss of power.

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