Rust Belt
Narrow gauge pantaloons begat the Roaring Twenties
Rugged-up to drown buggies
And sashaying mistresses
The loop couldn't stop the derringer on its way to heaven
Brooding nightstick...
Old oxy needed a gauzy jazz blimp
So the story goes, a slimeball idiom
On its way to Prohibition
Big nouns standing around, unfettered, unlettered, old father grime
Was it you, Ducky, stole my fibs?
Feelgood race ethics chasing its tail
Aurora in all her mullioned sassafras
Down by the haunted tracks
Descendants be my makeshift
Along the Tuscaloosa
The party of beer butts supports a tough laugh
Kid onus sat back & laughed
Who interviewed the oracle to age-date the slugger
Vocab yr Oshkosh to nipple her bal negre
Sauce me, baby, I got red on my rain
Leaving out the guts part gets me exactly what?
The dream sieve, waking amidships withering fallguy
Night traction, frozen select, cheap eagles, alloy
Space in which reading unravels the share-balance
Taste is adjectival, it worms and stains against the gyro
Give me a cool dry lake any day,
Apple yarns, crennelated barn snarks
Have we passed yet, the magic thrashing fashion-lid?
Sad how rye it makes, albeit on a dud nanny
It amounts to a white / ask me in September
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