Sparkling Arsenic
Birth dogs while death bitches.
You know: cunts, cocks, curfews abound.
¡Bark! ¡Bark! ¡Woof! ¡Bark! ¡GRNNGHLHRR!
Or: your eyes glistery as hectares of lit
rain-sprayed windows at Seattle’s dusk
on my eyes make my heart crawl with lice
and its mad thrompity thrompings don’t
curb one single lice-itch—thank god. Our
twosome smothers the smothering the angels
smother the smothered with. I.e.,
me. O, life’s shittings: all the shit that’s
fit to print weighs on me as much as
raindrops on Mount Rainer. When
I’m with you. Wherever upon the warp
of the world we are. I wish my cock
was twenty stories high, or thirty, or
vapor if that’s what you want. I don’t care.
Duh. So long as you like me liking you.
Let this be the most beautiful thing I’ve
ever–forever afterward included–ever said:
you are life yet you are fair. Or:
you are life yet you are fair. ¡Bark!
Horror Sleaze Trash 