Slogan

A Poem by Marshall

On the highways of utopia
stretching pleasure to people
insane with passions pages
I rolled along on tyres
trundling down mountains and valleys
salt swamps, honey mustard nights
pumping iron clad nozzles
energetic bursts of orgasms
countless stopovers
unburst wheels
mechanical breakdowns of the minds
metaphors of meaning

I settled then on a roadway
in Alaska
destroyed broken beaten
used and dirtied
by grease monkeys and maniacs
unkempt gearshifts of dollars and dimes

life was touch and go
when I parked in a nirvana slot
for good.
Out on the dusty rump
emblazoned with fingerprints
a wisecrack wrote:
I wish my wife was this dirty!