Lord Monkey Gives Good Golfcart.

When twine ills the stein, and when
the Planet Louisiana
pulls out its beef-bone,
Lord Monkey speaks
to golfcart.

Old Lord Monkey, in your
Parthenon of butterfly shirts,
in your butterfly shrimp-zeppelin
whose antennae drag across
the old Mississippi raceway

We breed Elizabeth Taylor clones
in a Logan's Run city somewhere in
Kentucky.

Liz tends the Bourbon,
brushes hard on lithe racehorse hide
to make it shiny, like her heiny
to make it good as golfcart.

When things are golfcart good,
when the Planet Louisiana
smells like

HIGH CAMERA KARANKAWA
or albino crocodilo with red-eyed
Thai witch priestess head
'asevered'

abaesthetics will golfcart
in the rumbling HD streets.

SIGNET
SIGNTETE

hurling devis
as in the Egyptian underworld
of tuat

"These here Godesses,"
says Lord Monkey real Golfcart-like
"vomits other tinier goddesses

continually,

like a fountain."

Lord Monkey spits
a golfcart, finally, then says,

"A dark pig cain't stump-break
a Chinee mule saucer pilot's
aftershave."