Xylose Xylophones and Dextrose Dreams

bone-feteYou’re gonna need a shower, once you hear my song. ‘Cause my melody is gonna cover you in treacle. Yeah, thick and sticky and super sweet. Tough to wash off, but do you really wanna? Like when the slaves had a good day making the pyramids, stacking those big bricks, and the Pharaohs were pleased. They said, “Nice job, feel free to worship your weird one-man god.” And it was a smooth groove on the banks of the Nile that night. That’s what this poem is gonna do to you, so get ready. It’s one…two…three…the pickle’s in the brine. It’s soaking like a miracle in the bucket, makin’ love to the salt and and the sugar and the spices. Makin’ gherkins. Call the brackish midwife ’cause these cukes is giving birth. Like that night at make-out point, and you were the castle, and I was the knight riding hard after having just slain the dragon. We got that draw bridge down and I crossed that hot moat. Don’t tell the duke, but the keep might be pregnant. Now, this melody is floating in the sky like cumulonimbus cotton candy booming chocolate thunder and spraying lemonade rain. Sure, it ruined the picnic. But it mawkened up the meadow, and all the little children were lickin’ up the grass and chewin’ up the blossoms. Landscaping, baby, the delicious way. Mmm…mmm… mmm…what a melody, call the dentist and make an appointment because it’s so saccharine it’s gonna rot your teeth out. Time to invest in some pearly veneers. Because this verse is gonna have you smiling, and no one wants to see your pustular choppers. So lay back in the chair and open that kiss factory and let the good doctor massage them gums with this candied refrain. It’ll have them fangs feeling fresher than a constipated man after a voodoo doodoo, cleansing his bowels with the soothing power of the dark arts. Ooo…ooo…ooo…Prepare for this aria, it’s like a honey wine lotion drippin’ over your skin and makin’ you feel like that time when our boys stormed the beaches of Normandy. Ratatatatatatat! Boomboomboom! You’ve got sand in your eye but that’s not sand, it’s sugar, baby. You’ve got blood on your bayonet but that’s not blood it’s organic molasses, baby, because this song’s so toothsome that even the horrors of war can’t compete. Drape the flag on the coffin and the twenty-one guns go off and let yourself get lost in this syrupy melody. Yeah…yeah…yeah…what a time to be alive, when a tune like this can exist like bacon in the sun on a wagon to the west. Welcome to the frontier. Sure it’s hell but if you’re willing to work hard you can make a life here. Just look out, ’cause the natives are restless and they’re looking to cut your heads off and boil them up and hang them on the wall of their mud and thatch huts. But that’s not mud, it’s chocolate. And that’s not thatch but filo pastry. And those aren’t savages they’re high fructose corn syrup. And this all just a sweet, sweet melody. And we’re all the CEO of a Japanese confection concern. Dwop…dwop…dwop…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s