Thursday, October 15, 2009


Angels descend and massage their assassins.
Bass by a moth, export machines humming, 
New flavors wear skinny jeans like reversible graves.
To teleport just seems so cool to me.

Aliens arrive and question their retirement companies.
They're optimistic, yes, but tomorrow isn't complimentary.
Without bars, I'd run from river to river.
I'm less global warming than dildo distributors.

Stash honey up the cunt of a teddy bear.
Dollar bleakness looks like it's happy to stay.
An evening of Beckett pondering my crisis of faith and free will.
I see no reason and change.

As I am the chosen one here to deliver world peace,
Give me a terrific bob job in front of and behind the camera.
This is the way you live.
Melt and you'll know flies.

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