Winnebago Skeletons

Here’s a fish in my stomach a thousand years old
Can’t swim a full circle
The water’s too cold
Burnt out cars in my fingers
Conveyor belts flow, right angles and steam whistles
Nothing can grow
A big-antlered deer stepping into the road
A beautiful woman with her head in the stove
The skyscrapers crumble heavy with rats
The wind’s full of beer cans and whiffle ball bats
This fish in my stomach wears a full length mink
But his teeth float in sherry in a jar by the sink
He’s the withered remains of Rin Tin Tin taking his new Cadillac out for a spin
The endless sea of traffic lights never make a sound like
Ben Franklin’s electric kite crashing to the
Ground and the Winnebago skeletons beneath this bankrupt town