O flaked ice, I'm so lost without my Maker's Mark.
Angina, transport me into a private room at last
to take the corner off of today,
smeared with the heart tissue of angels, Live!
With the tweezers of tiny heroes,
"pull Apollo crabmeat"
from the legs of the breakdown republic ---
anemic royalty hurling a full Coors
at Amerika, auburn curls wicked tight &
cheekbones flushed with tidy adventure.
A plague on both your brownstones!
I can feel this elite in the Ethers & in the land of Coca~Cola
but tonight I was "corrected" at the gym & felt shame.
A column of coral flame shot up
like Vikings with powder room vapors,
starkers (blush!) amid the puffy axioms of existence.
Made stiff by the Krypton syrup in all I touch
that blossoms into the cold sick throb of
"WTF are you trying to do? WTF are you trying to do???"
I know nothing I have nothing I got nothing to say but
"I carelessly build a creepy future life."
photo by Gottfried Helnwein