Life Is BS and Madness

Surrounded by bowties  
in my mind's sauce
sometimes Tabasco
often pot pie
and music piped in  
rising in elevator shoes  
 
to give a peep
something I wrote
from my mustard jar
a far laugh from tattoos
of ilk and madmen  
with the umpteenth wings
 
more often than a knot
in my bigbog blues
slogging, in dark's frying pan  
pimping for oysters
listening to, "C.C. Rider"
and my Jenny Jenny
 
over the rainbow in my funk
it's only for a moment, folks
snapping your nappies
as you eat your Cheetos
wanting you to come
into my sanctum