(no subject)
Man Made Jesus ©,
PRADA on my feet,
Gucci suffocating my ass and genitals,
Curled up with another book of Prose, of African Tribal Art,
Balloons loosing particles of helium, replaced with air, congenital schmucks being removed in a jewish hospital,
I write absolutely nothing, of a Dream of flight, of a gigantic circular clock that made atomic bangs as I fell from the sky, Dreams are great, Skin pulled back, Face spread upon the bones into a filthy smile.
Jack in my corridors, Allen in my mother's bed, barking demons in the cauldron, Statues changing their poses deleberately behind my back, my sculptures come to life, my children of stone and marble, what glee and fruitful emotions it fill me in this unknown Jesus.
