any port in the storm
any snort in a porn
any hope is all worn
every loss is still warm
the ratatatat of a snare drum
the crackle of burning tobacco
no matter how intricately the mirrors are set up
are you listening?
no matter how intricate the mirrors are set up never look the little creature fisting you in the eye
under no condition is this safe
look at me, look here now
don’t do it
they take your soul and another creature is born, it is how they breed, lizard people and illuminati sleeper agents supply cocaine and horse tranquilizers to keep the party going
pass the dutchie on the left hand side
right, not right but right as in agreement or statement of fact, right
castanets caliente caiete, madre de dios, caiete, una paquita cabron
just shut the fuck up for three seconds and breathe
offensive stereotypes and perpetuated myths do no good for anyone, mister
cocaine like clown make up, strutting like a young peacock, feathers flared and drawing every eye
supermodel walk to the corner store
fierce and made for a spectacular crash
heroin chic, marshmallow peep, pimp style creep, them pockets look deep
damn girl did you just fall from heaven cause you look like the devil and i have an invoice handy
that will be seventy eight cents for the soul and two air fresheners that smell like
abstract art and overflowing trash bins, a tire fire and chocolate kisses, that last taste of amniotic fluid before the smack on the back
cloves and ginger, goth night for an upset tummy
shelf life of a fruitcake, indiscriminant to the discerning palate
it all started with any port in a storm and wishing it were any snort in a porn
took life from that and sprouted wings with thorns instead of feathers, incapable of flight but deadly and complex
a scorpion eagle hybrid with the nose of a bloodhound and the bark of whooping crane
she is like a theramin, whimsical and off putting, at the same time a gentle melody and eerie, pensive and angry
a beautifully wrapped package of angry hornets, barbed stingers and multifaceted eyes
drawn along an invisible trail of pheromones and sad trombones, dislocated fingers and the outstretched arms of
nothing
keep it moving people, nothing to be here, you have all seen the bottom act like adults
diapers and dementia, diphtheria and diabolical drawstrings held taut and the bolts are aimed at your nether regions, your naughty bits
can you speak in tongues, read Aramaic, and feed us both a healthy dose of arsenic
hemlock, wormwood and a splash of sirin to keep the mercury taste from shining through
naughty little minx, vixen, dream come true and nightmare given shape
always just out of grasp, incorpreal as mist and as real as those two chips implanted in the back of your brain stem, wired to blow if you make
any
sudden
moves
hold still, hold your breath, let the lasers bath you, let the razors tame you, let the tasers braise you
farewell done with criss cross applesauce grill marks on your succulent hide