Prince

all my thoughts are
only inches long. and
there is an explanation for
everything. beer
tastes like piss
to validate the fact
that goodness
is on a par with evil. we
laugh at the crippled
and the crying, the bloody. there
is no scale grand enough
to measure
our contempt of Man. Smokey

wants couples or
bi-curious shemales. butch
and unafraid of the whip.
rubbing chicken all over
his pierced genitalia. and
soy milk, whatever there is
for a kitschy artistic fucker.

i was subtle, all the way
even in indecency. and
about my hunger for
her moist flesh,
amoebic
with a twist. and
a scent
of poetic eroticism. little

nibbles, we
speak of karma. there's
a vague shape
with a series of
outlines, touching
outdoor areola,
y'know \ like a universe of its own.

adulthood. in little doses --

keep out of reach of
children

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