Motel... Motel... Motel... broken neon arabesque... loneliness moans across the continent like fog horns over still oily water of tidal rivers....
Ball squeezed dry lemon rind pest rims the ass with a knife cut off a piece of hash for the water pipe-bubble bubble --indicate what used to be me..
'The river is served, sir.'
Dead leaves fill the fountain and geraniums run wild with mint, spill a vending machine route across the lawn....
The aging playboy dons his 1920 autograph slicker, feeds his screaming wife down the garbagedisposal unit.... Hair, shit and blood spurt out 1963 on the wall.... 'Yes sir, boys, the shit really hit the fan in '63,' said the tiresome old prophet can bore the piss out of you in any space-time direction....
'Now I happen to remember because it was just two year before that a strain of human aftosa developed in a Bolivian lavatory got loose through the medium of a Chinchilla coat fixed an income tax case in Kansas City.... And a Liz claimed Immaculate Conception and give birth to a six-ounce spider monkey through the navel.... They say the croaker was party to that caper had the monkey on his back all the time...'
I, William Seward, captain of this lushed up hashhead subway, will quell the Lock Ness monster with rotenone and cowboy the white whale. I will reduce Satan to Automatic Obedience, and sublimate subsidiary fiends. I will banish the candiru from your swimming pools.--I will issue a bull on Immaculate Birth Control....
'The oftener a thing happens the more uniquely wonderful it is,' said the pretentious young Nordic on the trapeze studying his Masonic home work.
'The Jews don't believe in Christ, Clem.... All they want to do is doodle a Christian girl....' Adolescent angels sing on shithouse walls of the world.
'Come and jack off...'
'Gimpy push milk sugar shit...' Johnny Hung Lately 1952. (Decayed corseted tenor sings Deeve Danny in drag...)
Mules don’t foal in this decent county and on hooded dead gibber in the ash pits... Violation Public Health Law 334.
So where is the statuary and the percentage? Who can say? I don't have The Word.... Home in my douche bag... The King is loose with a flame thrower and the king killer, tortured in effigy of a thousand bums, slides down skid row to shit in the limestone ball court. Young Dillinger walked straight out of the house and never looked back....
'Don't ever look back, kid.... You turn into some old cow's salt lick.' 113
Police bullet in the alley... Broken wings of Icarus, screams of a burning boy inhaled by the old junky... eyes empty as a vast plain... ( vulture wings husk in the dry air). The Crab, aged Dean Of Lush Workers, puts on his crustacean suit to prowl the graveyard shift... with steel claws pulls the gold teeth and crowns of any flop sleep with his mouth open.... If the flop comes up on him The Crab rears back claws snapping to offer dubious battle on the plains of Queens.
The Boy Burglar, fucked in the long jail term, ousted from the cemetery for the non-payment, comes gibbering into the queer bar with a moldy pawn ticket to pick up the back balls of Tent City where castrate salesmen sing the IBM song.
Crabs frolicked through his forest... wrestling with the angel hard-on all night, thrown in the homo fall of valor, take a back road to the rusty limestone cave. Black Yen ejaculates over the salt marshes where nothing grows not even a mandrake.... Law of averages... A few chickens... Only way to live....
'Hello, Cash.'
'You sure it's here?'
'Of course I'm sure.... Go in with you.'
Night train to Chi... Meet a girl in the hall and I see she is on and ask where is a score?
'Come in sonny.'
I mean not a young chick but built... 'How about a fix first?'
'Ixnay, You wouldn't be inna condition.'
Three times around... wake up shivering sick in warm Spring wind through the window, water burns the eyes
