Stag... nation

gears smeared...

green-hued lob-oil
gunked up in crevices
leaving toothless circles

same ole whirl
same dizzying twirl
round the clowns swirl
low dogs chasing tails

all are temps,
all are waiters and
waitresses preoccupied
with something other
than their occupation
on the sinking ship

toothless circles grinning
with green-hued lob-oil
jammed up their cavities

spineless plates spinning
on the ends of poles
with king clown balancing
each to and fro, friend? neigh foe

bills spill, a glaze on
the surface of the people's ocean
suffocating all those
suspended between freedom
and the murky depths

king clown awaits with
his constituents in those depths
with snapping claws and
lighted orbs dangling in
front of gnashing fangs

in all his gluttonous virtues,
king clown and his purchased
souls dance below the falling
fish drowning in the people's ocean