01-22-2015, 01:31 PM
Edit 1:
Fourth of July.
We lay our bits of uncased meat on burning rods
and waft up savory smoke to founding fathers
that have been reborn as myths.
Perhaps the newly crafted heads of men in powdered wigs
are nodding in the heavens
when fireworks are blocking out the stars.
Or perhaps the chemical explosions filling the air
are meant to order chaos
on the relatively absent palette of a night.
Jubilation is a cousin of the musket fire;
pipe organs recreated in a hotdog
Original
Fourth of July
is a time for savory smoke.
We lay our bits of uncased meat on burning rods
and waft up smoke to founding fathers
that have been reborn as myths.
Perhaps the newly crafted heads of men in powdered wigs
are nodding in the heavens
when fireworks are blocking out the stars.
Or perhaps the chemical explosions filling the air
are meant to order chaos
on the relatively absent palette of a night-sky.
The Jubilation is a cousin of the musket fire,
and it’s like the organs recreated in a hotdog.
Beans and Franks baby.
Fourth of July.
We lay our bits of uncased meat on burning rods
and waft up savory smoke to founding fathers
that have been reborn as myths.
Perhaps the newly crafted heads of men in powdered wigs
are nodding in the heavens
when fireworks are blocking out the stars.
Or perhaps the chemical explosions filling the air
are meant to order chaos
on the relatively absent palette of a night.
Jubilation is a cousin of the musket fire;
pipe organs recreated in a hotdog
Original
Fourth of July
is a time for savory smoke.
We lay our bits of uncased meat on burning rods
and waft up smoke to founding fathers
that have been reborn as myths.
Perhaps the newly crafted heads of men in powdered wigs
are nodding in the heavens
when fireworks are blocking out the stars.
Or perhaps the chemical explosions filling the air
are meant to order chaos
on the relatively absent palette of a night-sky.
The Jubilation is a cousin of the musket fire,
and it’s like the organs recreated in a hotdog.
