pop tart body shot

Atavistic decadence
Shot full Deep-fried
Turbulent evanescence
Hot plate Drip-dried
Through the walls
Her cumming screams cry
He pounds and she tears up
But smiles a Cheshire smile

Tell-tale makers of thought
And beatific voice
Choices of choice
To choose or lose a war
The man who stands in the doorway
Of his childhood’s room
Has long phallic phangs
Which glow and shine
Like cum in ultraviolet light

Precognitive erected whores
Go down on each other between johns
The salty shot slides
Down there esophagal path
To join its regiment of soldiers
In an acidic plunge

Like a boy who finds his father’s gun
Or a girl touching her clit for the first time
Danger is ahead
Two loads are gonna be blown
Into the air as it cuts line
Through the white noise lies
Of our nation

Tell me about the ghettos
About the syringe filled ponds
And condom overloaded septic tanks
Everyone gets the injection
One way or another
Vaseline eyes make the world easier to see
Or easier to accept and understand
There is no tearing or anal leakage

Oak tree branch snaps
Awakening my pure conciousness
Carroll strokes my head and puts me back to sleep
He then nods off himself
On a mainline shot
Ginsberg sits on the window sill
Licking his lips as he watches
The boys on the streets
Young blacks playing street ball
All of their rage already in place
Not yet unleashed
Kerouac lays out his mat
In the southwest corner of the loft
He repeats a forgotten mantra
Sips some wine and speaks to us
About unchained mechanics
And ephemeral loves
Sacriligous texts
Derelict closet cases

Across the street a bold faced liar
With the nose of a Sharpei
Tells his children to obey the computers
To drink their sodas
Eat their fast food
And be home in time for the sitcoms and reality shows
Instructing them to avoid trees
All forms of nature
Books
Open minds
And curiousity
The only cat it didn’t kill
Was a boppin’ hip

Hark to speed freak latinos
To shut the blinds
On their way out to see the transcendence
Of Mohammed
To check up on the beats who lounge at 81st
Smoking Liggetts and drinking Cap’n
Tell those lazy ass crackas
To check up on the cunts
On Renner Rd.
Who screw by a clock
Set to a scream
Pop “ups” and then fuck
Listening to Air

Wherever the pen goes
My hand is soon to follow
Where my hand goes my cock
Is sure to be
17 and fucking a stranger
Battering her with my drumstick
And basting her bags
With my flow

In the mirror there is a face
I no longer remember
With a mind that is corrupting
All those around
The pleading nymphettes
And drooling queers
All is coming to an end
All is going to conclude


All is coming to an end