Last Call of the Dog Boys

Today it took two thousand hours to download the two thousand porn stars which in the mean time took two thousand years in the making… Saint John of the cross told Lulu Saint John in a back ally, about the err of her ways.. She bowed her head and gave a prayer offering in equal to two thousand lap daces… from dirty old men in plaid shirts…

Now alone again sitting in the pile of useless protoplasm ten million of Americas finest, who got strapped without a church membership are pumping semi-valley in effort that their favorite beat poet would not die, but pass away into the other world shouting limericks and rebuttals of political leaders and church goers…

Men who have rode in golf carts and have the race card in their back pocket, spill their cold soles on late night T.V. without and recess from their past insurrections… fearing no evil, and seeing only the smut of their own inner demons, fearing it is to soon to change and long off to repent…

Utopia of a Volvo Generation

Don’t look at me you downtown fiend.. don’t ask me where your children are.. I know where they are, but I wont tell you… they begged me not to…

Your two piece suite and your roaring economy can take care of it’s self… I don’t care, go away.
I don’t eat your fast-food… tell me the truth do you really care where your children are?

Push me a little harder and I might tell you…I’m corrupting them with their own minds… I feed the trash music and trash T.V…. I taught them the Koran, Marx and the ensemble of prime time T.V.

Your children are safe with me… why should I tell you where they are…the same piece of pine tree that your father and father before that just wont do the job anymore… go away, don’t bother us.

I taught them to love the fags, count to ten and watch public television… I taught the white girls to love black men and I taught the white boys how to deal with it… healing their wounds with an un-holy trio of Bono, Dylan and soft play blues.

Do you really care where your children are… I told them your t-shirt and leather jacket cool can burn in hell… I taught them in every other white picket fence is a wife beater and a commandment breaker… burning in his own lust for a thirteen year old girl and a 1,400 foot ranch style…

Do you really want to know where your children are?

How Naked the Coat Stand

The coast stand is always changing. In the winter it breads heavy

coats, wool gloves and loose over sized hats. Spring brings lighter

over coats and the occasional umbrella. In the summer the coat

stand is alone, naked. Maybe a baseball cap and a friends leather

jacket. In the fall it slowly starts all over again. Styles change, a

colorful sweater, a Halloween mask from the latest horror movie.

When sad days came the coat stand was full. When the funeral

came the coat stand was full with everyone’s best black suite and

the occasional woman’s black cape. When that sad day came to a

close the coat stand drew bare once again. Seasons change, we

change. But the coat stand always stays the same.