C’mon,

Sing along

Pretty pink thong

Awake at dawn, the dish soap so sudsy and suddenly the lights go on, but when the sun sets and hun, place your bets on the bigger, bigger, BIGGEST chests of breasts feeding the infants so infinitely a la The Infantry, with the intermediate Saints of John’s, my school with absolutely not a single fool, eating food and playing pool in the deep-end singing aloud, sinking Billiards at the barn door, hay for horses, there’s more in store as I implore, the fish to snap at Dad’s lures, but oh crap-  one got loose, the big bucket of minnows sleeping on pillows with the blood-shed oh I hate what was said, “You have a Traumatic Brain Injury” when the judge was lenient and deleted my criminal-recordings in the hospital, when I would say, what the hey? Mom and Dad, why do you want my voice on tape? To fake a rape?

Got the life, with a snapped up Ferrari car going so far at one-hundred and 80 degrees, oh please, Mom bake the turkey for the Turks, with slow, subtle jerks pleasing my ding-dong as I like girls in skinny underwear: thongs with a brown spot in the back, on the line, oh Heavens maybe, take me and go all the way to Marlboro, MA cigarettes a la filters of smokey fillers the Bear wearing a thick and think, coat of hair, so buckle up and sip your goblet cup, I choke on vitamins and throw up, vomiting to myself, in the kitchen sink, Goblets I drink absolutely zero alcohol, and drive a rented UHaul to the mall with my Justine Aragona!