always asleep in the
kingdom of nil until the
day you wake up dead
because
everything is cause
for humor and
those not busy being
born and
so on and so on
iggy pop, right?
might as well’ve been
fucked up and
bleeding and just
waiting to bury lou,
or maybe it’s joyce
i’m thinking of here,
smearing himself
with peanut butter, with raw meat and
shards of glass and
screwing all the prettiest girls
better drugs for
better living
ezra pound with a
machine gun,
because the false
king has no future and a
shallow grave is too
good for any of his children
leave the corpses of the
faithful and the traitors
for the crows
leave the rags of
your bitter, twisted faith
for the true
believers
let the blinding
light of
pagan faith
define whatever days
we have left
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