ouzo in my head is screaming you,
my protégé the bacon sizzled pan
and the warden's warped bars
orthogonal to morning light:
how I dread the dawn of anything.
dry gin, she is pouring while
her coup de grace is stiletto
in the iris of my deserving eye-
oh man, just shut the fuck up and drink
until I get this harpy off my back.
won't you get down town?
a bloody fist comes through the line
and serves a two finger pernod
in my preferred manner, maitre di an all-
I got class ya see?
metropolitan is fire ant mound
swarming from the electric mind
of your sharp tongue but the white hot bites
I prefer to the sores of self-pleasure,
at least I know you care.
Irish whiskey in the canal
municipality of nightmares
of vinegary smelling barbed wire
a camel outside the hotel room
was found looking for oases.