NIGHTCLUB NYC ...ROCKN ROLL FAG BAR.
On a black Formica bar top around a silver pole knock kneed in a pink baby doll nightie and sad little granny shoes, barely dancing, shake of his wrist, bob of his head, la di da, swaying like a virgin about to be raped behind the bicycle shed amongst the dead rats and school abortions ...this young man from the hot stinking swamps of Florida ...who peppers his conversation so softly spoken you can't hear a breath with OH WOW! (like he's just come) INCREDIBLE (like he's going to come) and DEFIANTLY, DEFIANTLY (the hard on)....his dance then anti - go go, its not thrust it in your face, its lets plat hair. I suggest he wear a bikini made out of strips of bacon.
WHEN A DREAM BECOMES A PAINTING.
Mike watches TV report on sex offenders. A suggestion is offered CASTRATE THEM ...
CASTRATE THEM FOR OUR CHILDREN....says one member of the public.
he sees a wood, two kids a boy and a girl are pushing a cart, they've come from a burial of a giant, the little girl and boy carry a trophy - a gargantuan dismembered cock ....ITS FOR THE CHILDREN the little girl tells Mike.
Midnight blue jagged mountains - the edge of sleep - a bright green hill a punk's shaved head littered with pretty daisies - clouds - silver semen splurges decorate the scene two light blue poodles float by - CHOKING ONTHE FLOATING - a little boy pushes a little girl in a cart their eyes closed in glee - oh they're so happy about something - could it be that huge and bloody severed cock in her hand? shooting gold sperm clouds CHAOS IS CONTROLLED this painting vibrates, hypnotize, giggle and shriek
Outside Mike's Brooklyn apartment - autumn arrives - leaves fall - I'm sad momentarily. the paintings and other works hum out of the corner of my eye - I'm surrounded by pink acrylic cocks (joy)
"You like the leaves bertie ? " mike asks.
"only when they fall, mike" I reply.
We're working together - dead mice do call us cats - mike's doing some illustrations for a little novella of mine - we're playing hide and seek with the censors, judges, the mindless arbiters of taste, the fuck wit shits,
yep we're their worst angels in nightmares, we're giving them the middle finger, Mike's which as I write this text is up my arse ......