Belly bronzed bikini wasteland

        of jello buck shots

                keg stands and nights

        that last three days

                        jacuzzi swirl of spray tanned glam

the gleam of soaked shirts and vomit

                            as the spring breakers

                bump stumps bury plastic pints in sand

        littering the boardwalk

                           with pizza grease

They lift their middle fingers to the sun

                        flash their cameras

        tops and gold cards

                        a slick arrhythmia

                bobbing to the monotone

        of bass heavy dance

                        anthems Funneling

                down their throats

gallons of distilled cane

        venerating glass bottles

                bearing the name of Captain Morgan was a sunburnt cyclone

                                                                                                famous for plundering

                                                                                                    Panama and for cutting clean

                                                                                    off any finger with a gold

                                                                                                ring on it He could empty

                                                                      a bohio faster than any tsunami could

                                                                                                making sport of torturing

                                                            slaves and puncturing their

                                                                      women He took pleasure in hacking

                                                                                                                off the limbs of village

                                                    children while those he shackled were mining

                                                                                    for his gold These deeds

                                                                      earned him knighthood from the English crown

                                                    They say before his death he gutted

                                                                                    three of his men so they could guard

                                                                                                            his treasure in the afterlife

                                                                      and that today he still sails

                                                                                                the Atlantic as a phantasm

                                                                                    chasing down the descendents

                                                    of his enemies snuffing them in their

                                      dreams by drowning them in rum








"...without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible...." - Frank Zappa