Don't put your tootsies in, or swim in my jacuzzi and get your own Manischewitz,keeping the Citronella bug lights burning as I promote my tango, sideswiping Poeand the Keebler Elves...they don't know shit about decay and Annette Funicello,my muse...

...who the walls, crawling through my mindeach kiss a graffiti, of mortal sins masturbatingbut listens, but walls, without mouth or tongue,ghosting whores pulling me deeper into insanitywith a lullaby for my gothic ink, bleeding my soulwith plastered tattoos while...

In painted ink, with charcoal tones, I confess waiting for Charon.The water too thick for the crossing, watching the gray rise. A single, distant, sickly gas lamp stabs at the gloom, offering notlight, but a suggestion of form—a spectral...