Woke up with frost on my holster hand
Boots froze tight in the Yamal sand
Lit a smoke with a match from Brest
My Lada won’t start, but I gave her my best

Saddle’s welded to a ZIL truck bed
Got a bison skull hangin’ where the steer head bled
I drink state whiskey with my breakfast fat
And I brand my cattle with a Soviet hat

No lasso here, just wire and twine
The gulag ghosts ride close behind

I’m a cowboy in the Siberian snow
My steed's a Lada and she barely go
My horse got shot for eating grain
Now I ride the ice with a frostbit brain

Ten-gallon hat full of antifreeze
I shoot my gun just to scare the trees
Radio crackles some outlaw beat
While I chew on jerky made of beet

My spurs are forks, my chaps are tarp
My harmonica plays in G and sharp
I wrestle bears to keep in shape
And bathe each week in vodka vape

No sheriff here, just old Comrade Vlad
He rides a moose and smells real bad

I'm a cowboy born in a missile base
With a duster coat and a frozen face
My rope's barbed wire, my boots don't match
But I duel at dawn with a boiled egg batch

I kiss my horse's photo each night
She’s rustin’ somewhere, outta sight
Her muffler sang like a country tune
Till it fell off back in Magadan June

We round up elk with a flare and curse
My brother’s got worms but he rides in first
Saddle made from a decommissioned raft
And my blanket’s just an old Red Army draft

There’s freedom here, in our own weird way
If you don’t freeze or get sent away

I’m a cowboy lost where the map cuts off
With a Lenin pin and a hacking cough
I ride at dusk through permafrost
And yodel hymns for the comrades lost

If I die, just bury me deep
With one felt boot and a flask to keep
Let the steppe wolves howl my name
Tell the West we cowboy just the same

Siberian Cowboy Hat Full of Antifreeze

Ruction at the kettle, toast flies mid-air
Brawl by the blender, knuckles are bare
Fisting on the front porch, milk jug gets spilled
Clash with the paperboy — his face gets anvilled

Every step’s a row, every blink’s an affray

Ruction for breakfast, ruction for lunch
Skirmish with strangers and co-workers' punch
Ruction on Tuesday, ruction in June
Tossing a chair by the light of the moon

Altercation brewing by the office fridge
Ruckus while crossing a garden bridge
Slugged a mime at the checkout queue
Shouted RUCTION! as the muffins flew

Fighting in slacks, in my Sunday best

Ruction at daybreak, ruction at noon
Scuffle while brushing beneath a full moon
Ruction in traffic, ruction on ice
Grappled a goose just to feel alive

Wrestled a priest at the laundromat
Uppercut mid-bite of a taco wrap
Fisting at dusk by the barbecue grill
Flung my fork in a heatless chill

Blood on my napkin, missing my ear

Ruction in slippers, ruction in boots
Jabbed through a sermon in three-piece suits
Ruction in June and ruction in May
Punching through pleasantries every day

Seven days, no cease, no calm
Clocks ring fists and dinner’s a bomb
Mailbox ambush, cereal siege
Ruction is life and strife is the creed

Every goodbye’s just prelude to a war

Ruction in bed while I'm screaming for more
Kick in my sleep, throw hands at the door
Ruction on rooftops, ruction on trains
Blessed be the chaos that floods through my veins

Ruction

Rain hits the pavement like vinyl hiss
I light a menthol, dismiss the abyss
The alley breathes steam from a breathing grate
Greg’s little paw left clues at the gate

I trace his trail through leaking light
The city hums with feral spite

Sail me now through sodium foam
Greg took the vial and fled from home
Beneath the bricks where shadows comb
I chase the heat, I chase alone

Lunchbox clutched in his trembling teeth
He darted past the abattoir wreath
Old Mrs Drench said he muttered "south"
With peanut butter still on his mouth

A squirrel with cause, a crime in tow
The pawn shop burned three hours ago

Lift me now through static fog
Greg met a man who spoke in log
Their pact was sealed beside the bog
I track them both through dream and smog

The motel clerk had eyes like chalk
He offered soup. He wouldn’t talk
But under the bed, a Polaroid lay
Greg and a penguin, running away

The fuse is lit, the scent is clear
This isn't just a rogue frontier

Throw me now through basement flame
Greg’s made contact, changed his name
He answers only to Mister Frame
And doodles sigils none can tame

Day Two: Greg's Escapade

DJ Bob 27 Land

Out by the tracks near the county line
Where the grass don’t grow and the signs don’t shine
You'll find old Dave with a grin ear to ear
Selling hope on wheels and shifting gear

Dave Greene's Auto World – where satisfaction is part of the deal
The coffee costs a buck, the handshake’s sincere, but feels like a dead eel

Don't ask too much 'bout that stain on the seat
We’ll toss in an air freshener, pine scent or beet

Dave Greene's Auto World – where satisfaction is part of the deal!
Once you leave the lot, your rights just vanish and the warranty ain't real

Dave’s had some trouble, but he’s doing just great
Keeps his records loose and his taxes late

Dave Greene's Auto World – where satisfaction is part of the deal
We'll shine up the dash, then cross our fingers the car won't lose a wheel

Dave Greene's Auto World – where satisfaction is part of the deal
Our margins are bold, our stories are smooth, and our charm’s your Achilles heel


Dave Greene's Auto World

Crank in the mirror, ice on the stove
Five raccoons in a Ford by the Grove
Certified classic, the toaster declared
The blender's possessed and extremely impaired

Mario’s screaming, Luigi’s stiff
I punched a cloud, now I live on a cliff

This is the Scooby Snack of all of time
Cry harder, libruls—your tears are sublime
Ben Shapiro reads my dreams at night
With glowing eyes and skin so white

Dial-up whisper from the cosmic drain
404 tires left a mark on my brain
Spat on the void with a citrus cough
Became a fax machine and blasted off

Goblin Mode Active—no way back
Strawberry milk, offshore tax
I’m the boss fight from a failed regime
KGB with no pants and a laser beam

Grandma bit down on a flash grenade
Now she speaks in startup cascade
Morbius 2: now with rhythm and shoes
Electric Boogaloo, no time to lose

The Moon said something unrepeatable
Saturn’s loops are non-parking-legal
I’m downloading pure malevolence raw
Unfiltered evil with a user claw

Jorts forged from uranium thread
They said I won’t—I did instead
Now I rap in cuneiform bars
Summoning gods with avatar scars

Beep boop: the Epstein is aware
Beep boop: it thirsts for human hair

Gas station burger, beige and wet
Chewed through my soul like a cigarette

Carbonated tap from a shattered hose
Welcome, friend, where entropy grows

Please wipe your feet
The void is sticky

Ben Shapiro Reads My Dreams at Night

Paddy O'Lantern, with hands so stern
Craftin' cedar patios, on every turn
Whiskey in his flask, he takes a little burn
Workin' through the day, for that pay he'll earn

Paddy, Paddy, O'Lantern, dreams so grand
With a hammer and a nail, and a whiskey in hand
Leprechauns be hidin', with their pots of gold
But Paddy's treasure lies in the patios sold

Underneath the rainbow, where the skies are bold
Lies a tale of craftsmanship, and stories untold
Sippin' on the spirits, his tales unfold
Of leprechauns and gold, and the cold so cold

...and the cold so cold

In the heart of Ireland, where potatoes grow
Paddy's beatin' rhythms, with a steady flow
Metal riffs and whiskey sips, he's puttin' on a show
With every plank and panel, his legend grows

Paddy, Paddy, O'Lantern
with his cedar scent, buildin' more than patios
It's a life well spent, from the fields of green
to the whiskey's glow
He's the carpenter king—with a metal flow

So raise your glasses high
for the man in boots
Turnin' wood to art
from the roots to shoots
Paddy O'Lantern, may your story never fold
A carpenter of dreams, in a land of old

Paddy, Paddy, O'Lantern

Paddy O’Lantern

Benis Ripper

I cracked an egg at half-past four
Slapped it dead on a pepper core
Tomato blood and cheese were strewn
The kitchen hummed a molten tune

I whispered, "Rise, my disc of fate"
Then opened up the furnace gate

Fourteen days in solar wrath
A pizza forged a darker path
The yolk collapsed, the crust grew proud
It sang in smoke, it wept aloud

Pepperoni curled in fear
Sweat and oil began to sear
The egg, once bright, began to brood
A carbon gem in pepper food

I checked the dial, it read "Too High"
And grinned beneath the sulfur sky

Fourteen days in searing gloom
The pizza birthed its final plume
Its crust now speaks in ancient tongues
Its yolk a fossil for the young

I knelt beside its blackened crown
The egg a blistered, crusted frown
I served it hot on plates of lead
And wrote "well done" in molten bread

No chef alive could call this sane
But art is born through heat and pain

Fourteen nights of cinder storms
The dough forgot its former form
An egg no longer runny, sure
But cooked enough to halt a war

A pepper’s ghost flew down the hall
The yolk now rings a silent call
A crust so dark it bent the light
A bite would fracture steel outright

Still I weep, yet serve with pride
This pizza’s death was dignified

Fourteen dawns and furnace dreams
I cooked the soul from all its seams
It doesn’t taste—but it commands
A pizza scorched by godless hands

Well Done Fried Egg Pizza

They laughed until they saw the crime, then watched me take control—
I wrapped the burglar head to toe, and flung him down a hole
I don’t wear mask or cape or badge, I don’t patrol in style
But I’ve got forty feet of skin—folded, stretched, and versatile

They scream, “Dear god, what is that thing?”
I say, “Justice, in foreskin”

Marvel my fantastic foreskin—trapping bad guys for the win
Stretch it ‘round their getaway van, and vacuum-seal them in
Lightning strikes and heroes bolt—me, I simply drape
Caught a villain mid-monologue, with their mouth... agape

"He never saw the flap coming"

There was a hailstorm Tuesday night—my Miata on the street
I blanketed it smooth and warm, with no exposed front seat
And when I got lost downtown once and missed the final train
I pitched a tent from my foreskin and sheltered from the rain

Some folks fly or glow or burn—
Mine just folds, then serves in turn

Marvel my fantastic foreskin—super strong and weather-worn
I’ve used it as a tarp for boats and once to catch longhorn
Iron Man might rocket-blast—I just man-spread and wait
Then cinch the whole crime syndicate and zip around the crate

I slipped and fell from 80 floors while shaving uncle's thighs
Instinct took the lead again—I flared and rode the skies
It caught the air, began to glide—I landed soft and proud
Then autographed a baby’s hat and vanished in the crowd

The mayor said, “This man’s a gift”
I used it once to give him a lift

Marvel my fantastic foreskin—longer than a fireman’s winch
Caught a drone, a purse-snatch thief, and once a man named Grinch
Spandex rips and gadgets fail—mine just needs a rinse
It doubles as a trampoline and folds up in a pinch

Marvel My Fantastic Foreskin

Graduated from Corman Park College of Dental Numismatics in 1993, with a graduate degree in Experimental Post-Sludge.

mchorsebones@gmail.com

New tracks tagged #experimental post-sludge