Somewhere on MTV street, New York, pedestrians in square suits bicycle past absurd holy land cave - stall number two; littered toilet wraps and urinal cakes directing Hansel and Gretal madmen to holy porcelain Mecca
Somewhere, the Goldfarb dreams sugar fairy polish sausage thoughts - dynamite glittering in Y2k zipper mirrors, beckoning with an eggplant foreskin, finding the meaning of life while peeling an orange.
Somewhere, Jesus H. Christ masturbates dirty keyboard torture, jaw lines tense drinking Mississippi;
mud coffee, depressed teeth and strands of prophet curls:
white wedding broken,
Baskin college community hell
delivering drive!drive!drive!
to stray cat, sinking hope -beauty heart,
Somewhere, indie rock owen cassidy gives the finger test, thumbs up and shaved head - wildly fire barefoot,
driving cross country to mojave desert booth:
1-800-****-*** dialing,
wandering across dry linoleum floor, phone-shy,
howling into noisy ear muff:
“IT IS BEDTIME!, IT IS BEDTIME! IT IS BEDTIME!”
sipping mushrooms from ziplock bags,
rubbing magnum through sheet like boxers,
explaining peyote vomit, 40 oz ethics, and meatbox America.
Somewhere,
Miss Mercury sells skin on alley street blind, lipstick smeared,
X marks the spot, tired of mascara rivers, punished thighs.
She stands, a Kali prostitute, waits
for tinted window enlightenment,
a scrambling leopard searching for milk money,
a beast, rainbow-puddle drowning.
I promised you a sign!
Vodka breath rain angels -
sky in an orgasm of starlight luster
Here we come: Miss Mercury.