Friday, July 10, 2015


Yep. I steam them and clean them, all those dead
idols from whence. From the standing lines of
Aristotle and Plato to the putrid array of pop-star
wigglers on an icy deck. Things fall down, go boom!
Nothing stands the test of time  -  ask Shelly and his
Ozymandias guy. No one else knows where the heck 
he went, so why should I? Don't ask. 
That Chinese guy, with the dirtied apron on, cleaning
his restaurant windows on Mott, I don't think he can
even talk it's so hot, and then, inside again, with that
crazy cleaver, he chopping the neck of ducks. Ouch,
Mister Tong, that hurts even me.
Everything comes down when the chips are up, and
every time those chips are down the jig is up. I can't
for the life of me figure this out : General Tsao's
Chicken and pork fried lice? Outta' the way,
I'm leaving. 

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