The Stranger

I don't subscribe to theoretical strangers

The erotic confidence boutique is a head requiem

Greatness gets rough on the ave and cops be moody pine trees

Deep boots wrapped in eye-brows with customary precision

The 'everyday' wrapped in cellophane by a jet-black traffic-light

The his and hers kitchen of union jazz gospel

The lemony mothership wine-house organics

The quality jewellery cunt-juice

Where bohemian savages seek medals in the burnt remains

peering thru a cell-phone of mirrors at a bonnet on a sandwich

A lame studio of untested bridges driving a car thru a CD collection

Where the warrior children of Malibu spit on anonymous reality

And Columbus-prayers open the unsafe light

Oriental rose of neighborhood dolphins

New toys of urban conceit burning in a hidden fan

Foreclosures in troubletown

Malice in Blunderland

Bubbles of re-treads, retirees flogging their male nurses

The Governor with a box of slaves under each arm

Pays a visit to the kaleidoscope underwater hospital

The holiday magic of last-minute turtle evictions

The democracy of laser hair removal, as sung by Fred

Pride weeps on the dance-floor like a study on genital herpes

The empty store-fronts the same as the malls

Shelves packed with pornography of every color, are we there yet mom?

Lots of cab-drivers claim they are resteraunts

Because lots of metal fences have children called Naomi

She was clearly 18 or older when she tied it to the rafters and called it home

I met her in the jig-saw of her own lake

A haircut of boulevard cups and a white belt of eyes

Lovers spiralling into silvery magazine kinetics

Veterans sucking each others wounds with see-thru pipes

Dead Kennedys, Grateful Dead and then Death Cab for Harborview

Snoopy Dog. And lacy ribbons surrounding the window where we kiss

And how the glass felt cold and clean to our lips

The world's oldest joke about pornography:

Hey dad, is this going to fit in our living room?

Yes son, I'm afraid it is

The friendly festival of big lies

A box of animals carved from discarded sawdust

Everyone in Home Depot speaks aluminum Turkish

Your tree-branch complexion and many-armed chauffers

Your jagged porcelain of pressed door

With it's hinges of hope

& your criss-crossed string of white furniture

Lost in a blur of Japanese errors and camp-fire excuses

The large, faithful doorman of your overcoat

Crystalline celebration of a false start

Karl Marx can't fill your dreams unless you're a lesbian

A re-modelled wow wails from the bus-stop

With her aprony chest of revolving travel

And Western drum of underwater book-learning

Clears the neighborhood of deluded highlights

That t-shirt looks way too tight, let me help you take it off

Stoned owls, talking by the troll

Thanks, but I can eat that at home

My only interest in porno is in their use of the airbrush

I think that's a light on in your corridor

The off-limits imagination of your sixth customer

Gambling the dillema of white curves

A straw is faster than a cell-phone

My pet monkey sitting on Bill Gates' head in the wizard prison

& replacing his mother's apple with a marzipan statue of some serious pie

Walking Hamlet head in hand through Class Discovery Park

Staring down Lincoln from the cheap seats

Helping Jesse James to hang up the picture

Of a smart bomb next to a suicide victim

Thru a village of adopted children

And the wondrously hairy coconuts of war

Down Unrepublican Road

Past the teenagers on Pine Street

To discuss the Golden Age of Greek philosophy

With a woman who loves having sex in the forest

And then I'll work the set-design for a movie

Called...'Slowly Fisting Heaven'


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