White Ass

I’ll bet your shit tastes like candy
And your piss tastes just like wine,
Which would be fine if Man could live on candy and wine—
But Man has the need to carve and burn the bloodied dead bodies of animals
And take fistfuls of suicide-inducing narcotics—
And if your snot were gold nuggets,
I’d suck the snot right out of your nose
And if your tears were diamonds
I’d punch you in the face all day
And wipe your ass with rolls of hundred dollar bills,
Snorting all the sweet candy you can squeeze through your overstretched sphincter—
Yes, I’d snort the shit right out of your ass,
I want to fuck you like a mannequin—
Sawing through you with precision in the dirty alleyways of your mind—

21 or 23, definitely not 31—
A Christian city in the shadow of a mountain of shit
Called Zion by the metaphysical doctors—
The Zionist doctors call it something else, but shit it remains,
Your ass cheeks spread like the sun and moon—
Light up a Marlboro and kill your wife with the lights on—
Use the hatchet in the corner with the dull blade—
The necrophile knew what he wanted
And he’d search the world to find it, a place like Heaven on Earth—
He doesn’t want to be a merman anymore,
He wants to find the Holy Grail,
He wants to see his mother again,
Get her naked somehow and cum in her mouth
Like he’s always dreamed, dive into a mass grave
With a hard-on and fuck every corpse—
That’s why I drove him to Mexico,
They’ve got a lot dead girls buried in the desert like treasure,
Remarkably preserved, stocky, leggy Indian girls
And beautiful thin white bodies with sturdy bones—
Shot to death or strangled just waiting for a ride to the Underworld—

That was the summer Willow and Melinda
Learned to masturbate together
Under the sweat soaked sheets,
The full moon high over the trees,
Memories of the searing campfire burning young flesh from within—
Melinda let Willow lift her short skirt from behind
And shit in her mouth while craning her neck to see,
Then Willow peed on Melinda
And the girls laughed like drunken clowns
Before one walked off into the dark woods filled with strange dogs
That meant no harm but the smell of wild strawberries
Pouring from the young wet cunt and ass
Made the unseen demons come alive,
Then it was a feast of burning pricks and hairy balls with not a single human male in sight—
Only the tender paws on the girls’ white backs and hairy open legs
That made any noise that night—

Silence creeps motherly, fleeing artlessly blue like that—
Gone before dawn, blue and studied, red and green too—
We know Megan met the pope when he came to lecture on the feet
He thinks we all should be washing—
A crowd of lady boys tours the capitol, midnight where they stand—

The aroma of freshly baked bread fills the house
With Korean wives in lingerie dancing,
I think of cats and Tallulah Bankhead and barefoot nuns—
The blonde walks among them, so should she bow or kneel
To the cross of the Presbyterian moon or the French New Wave—
Since when do mothers pretend to be evil?
Why did they stop showing their cooch and kissing make-believe horses?
Sleeping doll-like in the hills—

A drunken grandmother throws her heels through the window
And a baby cries—
Time a square gift running backwards,
I know you think God is in the room with us,
Crowding the girls in their leather boots,
I know you think Mila Kunis is here with us,
Her Chinese eyes as small as flies,
Grandma’s old ass all sweaty and stinking of rose petals,
Spread eagle in forgiveness—
Now we want our eyes to see the waves, now we want our innocence resurrected,
Now we want Lindsay Lohan to make a comeback,
Will it happen in my bedroom by the full moon’s light—?
I think the Sahara glows like gold and Anna Chapman’s pornos will soon be on the Internet—
But only her grandmother knows for sure—

Silence creeps motherly, artfully like a nun,
The last Chinese girl standing—
The last twin to survive—
The greatest poem ever written, her backside filled with eyes
Drunken grandma returns to find she’s taken from behind,
Her dress lifted she’s sodomized and blames it on the wine—
There aren’t rhymes in the whole wide world to justify her cursing all the time—
I think she’s already beautiful but her tattoos make her sublime—

God survives and eats his eyes, retro so she swoons—
I think Megan Fox had her day in the sun
And now she’s Princess of the moon—
A Japanese girl knocked on my door and offered me a cake
That she’d baked laced with keif that I ate with her ass like steak—
From that day on her grandmother’s ass was mine to take—

In households across Japan housewives are frigging themselves silly on the floor—
While flames erupt out of their ass and their gay sons castrate themselves
When they see their mothers lying spread eagle,
Fingers shoved so deep their whole hand disappears—
Three ghost sisters only the cat can see—
One sitting on the toilet stinking up the bathroom
With her ghost farts exploding in the darkness—
One standing beside the window staring at the snow
And her cold reflection in the black mirror—
The other lying in bed made of all too real flesh and faceless—

In households across America women are trying on new underwear
And black girls are sucking Italian cock—
She masturbates him in her new lingerie,
The ugly girl a nuisance and slow in the head—
If Blake Lively and Natalie Wood could pee in one another’s mouths,
They would—

Egyptian Pharaohs rise from the dead riding camels
Over the bones of teenage girls—
Across the Middle East tomboys suck cock
And sodomize each other in the secret language of fat girls
No one else dares to speak—
The fat, naked ass of wives, the cartoons of the Roaring Twenties,
The ulterior motives of cops on the street—
In households across Latin America infant girls are raped and shot,
Not the blonde ones, just the skinny one with painted on eyes,
The ones you know well, the Jewish ones—
History boils and repeats like hot butter dripping on to her feet—

Like Jennifer Lopez sucking the cock of Jesus H. Christ,
She did it while Rhianna was watching,
Taking notes for her vaudeville routine
I saw why and didn’t care: her cupcakes were burnt—
She was old, not shy, frigging herself in the window,
Of course you let strange men fuck your daughter in the mouth,
That’s how things are done in Sodom; it’s the custom—
And Egyptian schoolgirls rebel against their fathers
While their mothers masturbate through their bikini bottoms—
While locked in secret room Russian girls have night terrors
While the shadows of Tunisia and Kyrgyzstan loom over Moscow—
Why do you like her, her skin is so old and loose,
Is it because she pulls down her panties for money,
Because she’s a lesbian but still a whore,
Because she’s someone’s mother and a slut,
All of the above—

All across the earth housewives are having orgasms while handcuffed—
Their naked sons sleeping with erections,
Their husbands savoring the smell of other men’s ball sweat,
We saw revolution through avant-garde kisses and beheadings,
Riots and repeated ourselves time and again in pornographic patterns—
The blonde sands and strange tourists frigging themselves endlessly the way God Would’ve wanted, blinded by the blue sky and the mother’s milk of Japanese milfs

The Shadow Of Your Footsteps

Your yellow feet like Lily Cole’s dialectical unconscious—
Deconstructed with Cubist eyes as your children smile,
Laughing at the shadow of your eyes—
Returning me to your whiteness, your memory
As blocks of sandalwood burn in a sandstone fireplace—
As the latest Japanese earthquake destroys the new world
And truth grows old in the shadows of your gyaru footsteps
And Korean facelifts make everyone look Chinese,
Like Lily Cole in glasses with four square eyes—
34C molded fancy, 34B molded fancy—
Your feet reeking of leather, your ass a symphony of loud, heady farts,
Your overcoat silhouette hiding
Your petite stuffed monkey in XXXL thong,
A giant’s rubber Hunter boots and glass nose,
Macho hangnail wedding dress—
Weed worth millions seized by the cops,
Sometimes I’d like to fuck a stranger that keeps her hat on—
Thank you, God, for tits and sheer black tights on fat girls
And lacy lingerie on skinny girls
And Wolford thigh highs on old blondes in stilettos,
Bursting their white triangles of 34A, 32B and 34A—
She smells like a storeroom, her facelift falling,
Her panties large and flesh colored, yellow and white and pink,
Her bra purple and animal print—
Barefoot like Lily Cole in fishnets on a catwalk with superwomen
And little to no make-up slipping golden toes
Into Pulitzer Prize winning brown loafers,
Painted toes crushed in pointed golden boots, married in suede,
Her calves cross the ocean—
To the rich the poor don’t even exist,
But an artist is a magician because he can make millions out of nothing—
Underwear, women, rock and roll,
Anything with eyes and ears, brunettes and blondes with big noses—
Metal, glass, paper, canvas, paint and ink—