7 NUDE GIRLS IN A HOUSE
WITH 26 LIVE CAMERAS

I saw the pockmarks on your soul baby,
Pinned to the floor in linoleum tantrums.
Smiles slapped off the faces of jeering gynecologists, 
Look how lovely she grips enemas in her buck teeth.

Heartfelt heart murmurs caressing boobies in wet insomnia, 
As Jackie Molasses worships at the alter of assassination culture.
Death stalks the privileged who without economic struggle must die.
Because lives of leisure engender kamikaze passion 
wilder than Liv Tyler in heat.

Soon time to say goodbye to Rudy:
Thanks for scrubbing my city with your ass fault cultural abortion.
Soon I will do my doudie and steal Judi, 
Please ask forgiveness from anyone that has seen you nudie.

I saw the skidmarks on your roll baby,
Evidence of coital oppression markedly designed 
for python squeezing arms.
Suffocation in the winds of roquefort cheese, 
Decapitated by love and made newly impotent 
by frustrated fraulein panties.

I see through your see through blouse and joust 
behind your behind in frantic Icelandic chirps:

You wore a fucking swan and looked retarded.
Your life resembles a re-creation of 
7 Nude Girls In a House with 26 Live Cameras
Broadcast nightly on Jewish networks in Palestinian bomb shelters.

{POETRY}