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And latex cunts

The jesus crosses
Hang from the soft
White turtle necks

The wanton varicose
Hide 'neath the
Grandma hose

The latex cunts
Chafe the young boys

The cigarette burn
In the nightmare rooms

The t.v. preachers scrape by
Like reptiles in a molt
Painting the walls
Blue- still blue

The poets write on the subway
The whores prepare for remorse
The highway spreads its
Legs for wander-lust

Chasing ghosts

Catching colds


We used to find water
With divining rods

Now we have geology

We used to navigate with stars

Now we use satellites

We've annexed our instinct

We need a roadmap
To have sex

We love made for t.v.
Pervert stories, but
Starve our lovers
For the sequel


And the man of the
Street slinks by

With a toothless grin

I need a compass to find my lover

Wretching in the newness of it all

This renaissance

This reckoning


The instincts fade
And the t.v. blares

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