oh selleck! let me boil
your browsweat to sea salt
to season my kale chips.
let me consume a meatsteak.
be my arsonist, and i'll be your
boarded-up housing project.
let's meet local singles who love
wild boar hunting, and take them
wild boar hunting. let's build us
a ranch. sometimes i cry
for the poor kids in africa
who can't even afford ammunition.
15 July 2010
an ode to the inventor of bloodletting
let us consume these multitudes
of schnapps
and heckle people in the dog-dust streets
if their haircuts are insufficient
let us bellow like hollow bells
across the macadam
let us ride Bently coupes
aim for the sky
cock that shit
then shoot
we the motherfucking people
yes, we will say, I am intoxicated on schnapps
and you?! your haircut is insufficient.
of schnapps
and heckle people in the dog-dust streets
if their haircuts are insufficient
let us bellow like hollow bells
across the macadam
let us ride Bently coupes
aim for the sky
cock that shit
then shoot
we the motherfucking people
yes, we will say, I am intoxicated on schnapps
and you?! your haircut is insufficient.
19 February 2010
turboboosting the panopticon
i want to oogle you like a wild boar
with lockjaw. i want to smell you
like burnt sloppy joe smoke,
and taste you like gunpowdered meat.
when the gov'nr declares his prostate of emergency
who do you want sailing that stank boat?
sometimes my love for you
makes me want to set fire to a building
full of schoolchildren.
sometimes my love makes me want to unload
steel in your killzone,
that terrorist-shaped target in your heart.
I implore you, my little porkchop: won't you tazer my guts
in the gun-range of your love?
with lockjaw. i want to smell you
like burnt sloppy joe smoke,
and taste you like gunpowdered meat.
when the gov'nr declares his prostate of emergency
who do you want sailing that stank boat?
sometimes my love for you
makes me want to set fire to a building
full of schoolchildren.
sometimes my love makes me want to unload
steel in your killzone,
that terrorist-shaped target in your heart.
I implore you, my little porkchop: won't you tazer my guts
in the gun-range of your love?
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