Standing in the doorway of a junk shop, hair purple, evil cracked face sucking cigarette smoke, face contorts. Rotting America. Big bouncing Bonobo under a moo-moo, on the game show, new ultra light juice maker, just as justice is just ass, hey look. Yawl crazy, say, yes, yall my niggas. What did you expect of them? I feel as though you are headed for some terrible crash, where everyone turns gray and whittles away under the lights of ten-thousand television sets. What did you expect of them? Ha. Prometheus? Right. Kiddies got Daddies Adieus’ Addie ride single gear bikes, yawl no yawl my niggas, my dogs. Go sniffing back to their vomit, one laughs until hemorrhage, bloody sardonic sneer, teeth smeared, what did you expect? A seer? Sheer idealism. Blind Sardinian from Create. Certain Cretan bards. Yea right. Drinking out of cups.
Did you go hunting like Holden? Did you dawn a feathered cap. Did you see them piss on each other in bathtubs. On my face, on my face just not in my hair. Etc.., Did you go dreaming like Basquiat under the breaking surf of the dawn, waves of light blasting your hair, Spike Lee style, only to find a pawn shop on the corner and a chicken head. Go figure.
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