Herr Kapitan Fernsehen was pissed
Imagined her coat through the mist
his bourbon breath steamed as he kissed
each scented button, then he'd twitch
and survey, with his lips, each stitch,
and cried, his voice raised up a pitch:

"I swear she speaks with my left lung,
her words caress her blue-ash tongue
those plump persuasive eyes that dangle
and cause a birth at every angle
Her mouth is meant for me, I taste it!
I don't just say this when I'm wasted
It's true! she is the light that bears
the answer to my peasant prayers,
the Hope for which I've squandered livers
that helps me wait til fate delivers
the bootless bounty of my dampered
suff'rings, the duty of my pampered
fantasies, to which I'm still beholden
till I'm striped more grey than golden
left to chapperone the dark as
one worn, wilted, worm-worth carcass.

"Oh God, you've buried all my bards
By stacking 'gainst me all these cards
You tell us that our time is up
and there's no wine to fill our cup
How can this be? They've worked so hard?
You play the part of prison guard!
The fact you say they don't exist
Ensures her corset ne'er be kissed
By me!" Herr Kapitan Fernsehen
left the premises not payin'
And snuck his soul outside the bar
and blew his mind out in a car.

(Ed. Note: The people from Whiplash Retrieval
were the first to arrive on the scene
With one hand down their co-worker's throat
and one hand on a ghost guillotine
Thay scooped up his sediment fast
Raced the van to the Blue Ribbon Mall
Shopped inside, saw a circus drive past
Stopped for drinks to dismember it all.)

December 96

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