Fried Mongolian Brains

whistling sand sliping from my coarse hands playing with the rubber bands twisted around my neck my latest train wreck within my deluded smoke clouds, crowds of bongs singing songs of lost memories my work a collection of parodies sung by a whipped clown in a harry gown king kong gone wrong weed retarded monkey swimming in a sea of mud blood seeping from his brain, like wire mesh holes that drain oxygen rich gore from the main processor fried chips, my chinese takout