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By Bobak Cyrus Bakhtiyari
March 31, 2004

mid afternoon perspiration of emaciated growls,
glug on the patio of ladybugs and chipped saturated wood,
many million years ago i kissed you on some fucked up italian street,
after i pissed in a nearby alley,
now blinking morning tears of rumbling cars shaving the twigs with
a crooked kettle

trying to pool the pockets play,
of my goodbyes
and little pearls that reconstruct when i look away...
lapsing gauges of trinkets
playing sloppy rages
on the
howling train of 2 am,
In the statues of your delicious generational smiles.
when did you stop cumming on the threshold?
believe in the pleasure domed delight and the red tails
flare a flight of eternal carnal pages
sipping on the Paradise of your eyes these red tails, midlight
insipid thighs,
where Hermia roams
her forever crooked toes,
fashioning to you those kissing-pillow hellos that make u say FUCK FUCK wheres the LEDGE...
how come u r so tame in your lionish kiss and--
delayed to spike the veins,
and waiting for a push of crooked laugh-cries again,
make me feel dizzy?

palm tree glares a time of fucking fuck surrounding polluted rivers
searching in these waters for copies of the Quran (that walked through my veins one bloody dream of passing cold water on golden wake-up arms),
or the Torah or whatever the fuck books are rolling through. Suzie says these
books are bloody high, like big legs tripping a clipping clown like myself, but now they bat me down like a Huwawa nightmare charged with Satanic rips of cloaked surprises, quibbles of vicious deadend running-like-blood rushing through metallic walls forever growing a dick that breaks every three minutes.

how come you can get fucked up and i cant, says tiny tim to the green giant of Trafala
falalalalal la la
faleh Hafez- pissing ur purpose down a happy drain,
train, fuck a hero in purple tites
and the metallic, crowbars of Harvey
prick the appley hellos of Angela...
picking up the candy is what u fashion with your yearning toes,
yet no no,
it rips an avalanche loose like midnight propane eyes
manifested in Harveys tears,
and fears fears tears tears,
like sipping on the morning glaze of Harvey's daze
rumbling like an erosive crumble
statued sage,
counting green notes on a glittering stage,
forever a crowbar-crooked-clay,
fired into her skylit smiles
in a charcoaly glueyness and
clawing the apple that is Angela's playpen

a kiss on the cheek,
a beautifully corrosive repeat,
as dribbling champagne cleans the years of decay celebrating in clink clanks of
oars slapping metal rowboats

kissing your sighs and fixed patterns of delight
like a joyful faraway dancer. i am.
.................... Say goodbye to spam!

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