8934. PLEASE DON'T PUREE THE ORANGE PEEL

PLEASE DON'T PUREE 

THE ORANGE PEEL

(Why am I listening to you at all? I have to wonder.

I feel like Sam Wagstaff, kissing Robert Mapplethorpe.

Boy, do I hate that homosexual stuff. Look at it this

way, we were born to be brave. Here on 17th street,

where the edges turn into cliffs and the old river

runs slant-ways wild, we can look at pictures of

girls and see if that works for you instead. Yes, I

try to keep it steady. There's a lance at the head

of the factory chamber, and the doorway is

filled with snakes. All I ever find in the gutter,

over by the Javits Center, are used condoms

in the street. Why in the world would that be?)