Your derision floats in your martini

10/11/98

He pours his squealing pigs

from his CD burner

then Mr. Bunsen erases his

mind

What did you find in her?

The constant buzz of phone rings

Entraps his cranium

til his inner carcasses plays

twister with her corpse.

She pours her derision on herself,

ballerinas peep into his tom

thumb tom look at his thom

fantasy boy loves his girlies

and please, do leave atari boy alone

he's not home.

He's gone off to the mall

like his rat friends do

every sat. night they prance

flirtatious lizard skins they wear

trying to cut open the leopard

skin vixens til their fish-nets

wreak havoc of elmer's glue.

They are on guard

en guarde, touché, no touch

Don't touch me, I don't dance

with sons of Satan

I'm a woman of the Heras

So don't you curse or

I'll unleash my power on you

and your axe will be mine to torment

Your axe is thirsty

But I'll clean it with ginsu

Stay away from my macabre anger

tell your friends

if ya have any left

The pack-men gobble up

the norm.

The streets are filled with

the blue ghosts

A thousand blue mondays

to haunt you.

No more football,

magnetism of the players is in your

hands for once.

And the foreskin becomes just one

the only skin he has left

is the skin of his

right-hand man; he's gone troppo.

so he doesn't belong,

and society becomes his

unloving playmate

and he's left with nothing

but their remains of a ripped chiffon.