Friday, July 10, 2015

6872. MY STATUARY STEAMYARD

MY STATUARY STEAMYARD
Yep. I steam them and clean them, all those dead
idols from whence. From the standing lines of
Aristotle and Plato to the putrid array of pop-star
wigglers on an icy deck. Things fall down, go boom!
Nothing stands the test of time  -  ask Shelly and his
Ozymandias guy. No one else knows where the heck 
he went, so why should I? Don't ask. 
-
That Chinese guy, with the dirtied apron on, cleaning
his restaurant windows on Mott, I don't think he can
even talk it's so hot, and then, inside again, with that
crazy cleaver, he chopping the neck of ducks. Ouch,
Mister Tong, that hurts even me.
-
Everything comes down when the chips are up, and
every time those chips are down the jig is up. I can't
for the life of me figure this out : General Tsao's
Chicken and pork fried lice? Outta' the way,
I'm leaving. 

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