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• Artiste: Kelly Joe Phelps
• Titre: Slingshot Professionals
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calculated entry in the class of circumspection reasoning, bargaining the last few drams of spirits the serum of one's foolishness. truth be told in a cold pint head 16 ounces of pure warlord dripping down the side of the glass. marching 'cross the fmily's' land the bagpipes and the drums the skirts are flying high me boys, let's bust 'em in the shins no matter nothing knowing, nothing owing save the garden say of a crokked hobbled garish man with sundown in his eyes. fifty year old walking stick worn through the lion's head carrid proud like a saber on a limestone statuette the littles can't decide which to lust for, which to desecrate imagination sits with the marbles in a drawer. slingshot song and dancing blasting out the lead paned windows wing whipped curtains sway this way like giant mockingbirds those damned lads and lasses have forgotten how to play hard pressed to find one ever learned how to sing.