b**kstore espacades

by tremens

this city is mediocre paperback
spiral bound assaults that totter in ill-matched stilettos
from an oozing ground of adrenalin where drags
the fray of flamingo-pink trench-coat, ivory-trimmed by
a community of fascists; manufacturing
guerrilla forces of trash-blood romance
churns junkie un-junky into a hard-boiled waste basket
of polymer minds mutinied
safe, lost, besot
lest we die, without Purpose

enjoy your paperback dinner
munch the spine that reeks greenish chlorine tinge
and the metal meatball tang of synapse on straight-and-airy
drink the distilled information with the added funded impurity
i call to without arms, naked, pale
under a chlorophyll screening lamp to Gloucester
who is mute to our death
and sponges the bound innuendo from plagiarised orgies
and cuddles the rapists of the human agency
rise, my libertine comrade! awake and rise!

we shall be the gold-fed prisoners in this cinema
and with surplus of saliva we feast
off general pity and great disgrace
spare the flicker of salvation a curdled drop of vicious cool
melancholy mother! grant me outrage!
grant us sobriety, our Brother expires from his joy
in this paperback city there are those that die for
love, hate, enmity, the occasional dented saxophone
but pray hard for the laxative of my jelly soul
lest i choke for recreation