do da day

in the do da day i see the juice of night leak in
the sun glow no more than a clouded moons
so i pull on my musky bear skin coat 
eat sour honey and hum sad croons
while popping storm clouds 
that are held above me like balloons
by demented tobacco chewing clowns 
that use my fungi phone ears as spittoons 

i’ll find no comfort in my overcrowded bed 
where I’m forked by fake silver spoons
i watch the insincere monopoly financiers 
pay black fat cheshire cat platoons 
to go and kill my purty little birds of joy 
that flock and bred in the ids Lagoons

i have grown exhausted with these Arabian nights 
of trying to conquer the summits of sand dunes 
while been buried in an avalanche every do da day
because of the noise from the troop of flying moth baboons 
that ride on my light back to met Doctor Livingston i presume 
but all we encounter are the wizard of oz goons 
I find in the bottom of the genie bottles i buy 
from the zoo keepers of the titanic saloons 
that sink like a melting witch when i cut loose 
the big red get me out of here shoe platoons 
because i think i’ve got all my black cats by the tail 
and enough rain buckets to contain all monsoons
that fall like seasonal childhood bullies sticks and words 
on the playground in the middle of the afternoons 

i try hard to rendezvous with the rescue whale fleet
only to find my salvation floating dead full of harpoons
and my sparkling clear day blue sea of eyes 
are the color of the excreted juice of prunes 
so i spin and spin my vortex of runny green snot 
to trap the spiders on my ceiling in cocoons 
in the delusion they’ll hatch as purty birds of joy
to wake me from my dark day with happy tunes

© bg 2012

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