kill the weeds by Theodore Wallbanger
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Redistribution of souls is how William looked at death
Culling of herds was frequent fodder for elder Bill
All shunning had been completed
Children were extensions of his DNA
Fresh William took pride in showing his youngest son
precise steps needed to poison neighborhood encroachment of vegetation
agitating personal property lines
Alcohol bucket lines were soon required to
start aging engines granting mental escapes from tragic kingdoms
Thirsty dreams would ticket adventures into frothing libido landscapes which danced recklessly
Frisky alliances with wed-lined dragon sloths
welcomed deviant pleasure portals
into bikini saloons rich with
Bambi baby flesh tease smiles
Jamesons rocks soothed a disgruntled soul who memorized impressive
resumes of saucy lipsticked sin grins but transformed
into a frazzled church monkey during holiday home plastic dazzle traditions
The grown up rampage bearded sheep invaded lives with a napalmed sweep
Lies painted across money trains were ceased
for no other reason than to
kill the weeds of hypocrisy
so as to live a beast sheep’s life flourishing in
magically twisted fantasy
A wonder funk spirit living in a labyrinth of spectacle releases word bangs from his fingertips while smiling as Theodore Wallbanger. Prose pops with rampage sauce cascade rhythmically from dimensions Wallbanger thrives in. The frothy balance of Wallbanger’s published work has not been released into the wild as of this cheery, blueberry blurb. Run your eyes across verbose lines that shimmy-shake like an erotic pancake, urging you to spin toward the lands of imagination.
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