SUPERMODELS SHIT TOO

I will call you manure
So vestigial and pure,
Like filtered wheat.

I will call you complete,
As twenty three year old meat shines in elastic heat.

I will call you Sandy,
As Andy and Randy fade like moist memories so dandy.

I will call you Warhol,
As war holes pierce Iraquian freedom 
and prison abuse is instant patriotism.

I can't beat the madding crowd of rat races on Lexington Avenue,
I can't join the sadly lit passages of trainwrecks falling down the stairs,
I can't feel the busts of German Au Pairs,
I met Anna Mieder in a sad cafe.

Looming birthdays mark a third of a century of fakers,
Maker's mark forever looming in violent nights,
Death to taste buds marked so gently,
Drive your Bentley into New Jersey love.

Model your panties around the house,
Model your hips busting out of your blouse,
Model your urge to sit on pencils,
Supermodels shit too.

I was born in Jewish frustration where matriarchal clones 
build broken dreams of perfect homes but none exist 
and aging fathers lament impotency while gazing 
at Macy's Christmas windows  if we only had Christmas 
we'd plug the wholes on sinking ships divorced from ass.

{POETRY}