French Baudelaire To The Reader In tired lovers chewing breasts and thighs In neural demons waltzing through the brain In dirty unseen streams of sighs Falling with a hiss beyond your breathy pain That pride of evil, the magic demon Who smokes endlessly like a chemist Whispering, pours atomic semen In the New Man: a
Dunhill Poems Beasts at a feast, ducks pressed, undressed A table of grouse and meat Gooseberry tarts near the nether parts From the eggs to the tripe and the seat Is my idea of an Advent roast With mewling inebriate mirth With two strong pints and a scowling toast Wearing pants of a comfortable girth.
Doppler Ray Mama Indigo lights In the Milky Way clouds Whirling in flights In barely seen crowds Where Doppler rays bend Weary, deep red At the ultimate end Of the dead and undead. Pour mist from that beaker Of nitrogen gas Pilgrim and seeker Of substance and mass If the rocket’s a wreck Our engines
I was sitting in the living room watching t-v Eating frozen scrapple and some old kim chee Albanian beer and some take out falafel Oozing maple syrup on a frozen waffle The neighbors were building a plastic latrine A cesspool from China, impeccably clean If the thing didn’t work you could take it all back.
For Ryan White If my name were Ryan White If I were three months old but bright I would learn to read and write While other children fight and bite. In looking at the gifts I’d get While I made my diapers wet You’d know what I would want, I’ll bet. I would want the
