RIBBENTROP VALLEY
What do you want to know, what should I tell you?
The pigeon I saw today was hanging onto the side
of a limb, almost pasted to the side of a building.
I'd never seen anything like it before, and just watched.
I love stuff like that : the junk that comes out of a tube,
the spill of the landed-thrown trash. I have no words
for the real matter of living : those people who dress
to the nines (whatever that means?), the eyelash paint,
the little-girl glitter, the men in those well-trafficked suits.
All to impress, and all things are sex? I just don't know
but I'd like to find out. I always wished to be one of those
Graham brothers, the ones who corner the market in
silver or gold, those who can shutter whole towns in
a pass with their money; buying and selling like goons.
The well-oiled mess of a cum-fest forever. Doctors and
lawyers and bakers and thieves, making off with both
money and glory. They sit on their own private beaches,
watching their lovers with camel-toe suits parading my
in big hats. The most lustful moment of any man's life?
I've been told already it's Death. Doesn't make me wish
for it though; at least not here in Ribbentrop Valley.
No comments:
Post a Comment