Sage Brush Saga

Akin a tumbleweeds  
aimlessly blowing in the wind
umlaut punctuation 
courtesy of let herd Mother Nature 
nsync with markie mark, 

(or other faux nuke heads 
on silent auction 
ajudicating bidding chopping block) 
or getting sparred 
sum xtra mo' mints

before morphing into gamut 
tuff height (against opposing 
super cross currents) 
bow willing head over heals 

deftly thwarting encroaching 
enfilade enhancing 
invading army of deplorable 
dust devilish debris 
with full Stanley steamer ahead onslaught 

opposing approaching phalanx 
ta become a foo lush fighter
putting kibosh 
across the infinitely open 
and wide prairie land

(which wasteland fictitiously 
epitomized and described by T.S. Elliot
with absolute zero relevancy here)
a barren vista ravages 
metaphorical landscape 

of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping 
along an accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding 
and dodging diabolical demons

mercilessly unrelentingly ready
to seduce this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence

racked with up pinions 
(halving smartly put irons in the fire)
deployed incognito 
tub hest describe demonic dungeons
damp, dark, demented domains - 
a veritable no man's land

and one impossible to escape 
from no matter how fast I flee
from the fearful, fiercesome 
and phantasmagoric forms

figments of imagination 
yet real and tangible as bone and flesh
haunt sacred house of slumber 
and transmogrify me 
into a loathsome madman

ranting and raving senseless 
gibberish and gobbledygook 
yet perceived as metaphysical 
and philosophical
sane state farm mister soundcloud 
syllabification stutterer 

from one whoa man 
World Wide Web wayfarer 
(perchance yourself)
which virtual vagabond 
venerates vowels...