.193

Right outside Los Angeles

it's hot as hell,

and my phone doesn't work-

It's poison - but it tastes

like cotton candy to me.

it's a proverb.

it's a session.

When the whole wide world

goes mad.

She was dressed -

in a tight red skirt

and a striped blouse.

her heels were high,

satin covered

and she smelled of

rich floral perfume.

it's a poem

it's a pageant

it's a monologue

just for you.

Her breasts played peek-a-boo and

reminded me of

inflated balloons and

chocolate bunnies at Easter.

Her round firm ass spoke to me in Spanish.

I told her I didn't understand.

She just laughed.

Her legs were smoothed flesh-

stretched to the max-

covering flexed muscles;

their length -

far beyond the miles I'd walked to get here.

"Slide me that banana." She said.

And then peeled it slowly

reminding me of Warhol's

Velvet Underground art.

She said "I can't stand listening to funk!"

"But I can't stand you even more!"

That's terrible.

Take a last look around.

see what is-

see what ain't-

know the difference &

know the truth.

advice - my vice:

this time around

I ash my stash...

medical and primeval.

this time around

it's chronic, ill and

important-

out of bounds;

the reason that i wrote this song.