I want to fucking jack off to God.

*Decadent Spirals*

He had his mother’s eyes.
Hereditary baldness from his father
had yet to set in.
American castles and pumpkin pie.

“Every” “single” “word” “in” “quotes.”

A pair of fishnets in the toilet.
He wonders what they’ll catch.
Nothing, of course, but still,
he couldn’t help but force it,
when he wanted it to come.

They found his body in a limousine
w/ glitter pouring out his sides.

He was always speeding
faster, faster and harder, harder,
A velvet-lovers industrial revolution.
A poor man’s poison apple.

A cure for cancer isn’t far away
and perfection is oh so fucking worth the wait.

But all the plastic in the world
won’t conceal his nudity,
nipples of bubble wrap threaded
thru and thru his tongue
like waterfalls along the rocks
like genitals strung around the Christmas tree
w/ popcorn and flickering lights.

Lavender perfume from a variety of women.
Sexual favors in every flavor.
Incessant metaphors prying their fingers
between the space in his eyes
and the hole in his nose.

He’ll never trust the personal ads again.

*On the corner of Bedford and North 11th*

Your belly is a bowl full of bellies, so
spare me the self-righteous rapid-fire
of rhetoric. Grab a mirror and watch
it pour out your widening hole.
(Where would it go if I shoved
the balderdash back with a ten-foot pole?
To the bowl full of bellies, of course.
Maybe I should borrow it sometime.)
Your sunburned face excretes faucets
of death and despair. And the few
strands of uncut hair fall limp
over conjunctivitis red with pride --
and god how did you welcome
that bowl full of bellies, which hangs dumb
under the sweat and severed nails,
like jagged half moons, on that dirty t-shirt?
The clothes you sell are draped
on a stubby fence; the useless skins
of your dreams on a crowing cock,
too early in the morning or too late
at night, limping sadly out of sight.
Tell me again, poet, how
to treat my neighbor. Tell me the way
you told her. I am dying to hear.
Turn the corner with me.
Follow me down these stairs.