When rip tiding sliding ravaging
And questioning that equestrian suggestion
Making hesitations about the lack of vegetation
Due to global microwaves
And that came straight from the horse’s mouth
Or you can doubt
Tom
Mr. Doubting
Tom
Like we should’ve doubted Vietnam
Dropping all types of incendiary bombs
On the unseen,
untouched trails
of the ghost like Vietcong
And that is not to be doubted
Or creating a hatred so absurd and obtuse
loosely based
on History, relatives and carrying their ******* baggage
Through the years.
I’d rather smoke and drink beers until I am bleeding out ears of corn
And then maybe we could feed somebody in this rat race.
This ******* place.
I mean, great city and all
But it stinks like **** out there.  And you know it.