Teaching the Parrot to say Here, Kitty, Kitty
As a writer dies, stash the cash in calling home. Teaching his parrot to say
"Here, Kitty, Kitty," our hero paints laundry into the tomorrow on the street in
preparation of your knees and my arms. There is another princess in the making in the last
days before we are completely doomed to commit the same mistakes over and again in the next century. I guess that it is better than
being poked in the eye with a sharp
stick, or living out of a shopping cart with a really long extension cord.
"I live another night in the Technicolor
frenzy called Christmas. I saw your toaster flying by my window on the way down to the
street. There was a soft landing. She was emptying your cheap suits out just before the
kitchenware. Just prop me up with another pill,"
the downstairs neighbor said as I made my way up the stairs in the dark hallway.
"Pass me another placebo," she says as she takes a long drag off of her
cigarette, "I found myself in the next
losers revolution stuffed in a gin bottle on my way to Bombay City, but that is
another story. Gimme your wallet and we will start our own insurrection!"
"She is a bimbo in the parade of your
imagination," says the Seer.
From my bed, she carries the blizzard out and set it on the table, like French Silk
Alex Bell invents phone sex
quite by mistake
"Could you come in here?
I need you."
Hook me up
to your verbal orgy
over The Naked Lunch
Gimme my Ben and Jerrys
Ice Cream loves and kisses
coo in my ear
imagine me there
Karma and Dharma
kissing in a tree
first came love
then came baby in a cyber-carriage.