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Do you know what makes
a villain? Who rings the
bells of the Cathedral?
Where does that highway
go to? Will my father
survive the year? Where are
my car keys?

Who rings the bells of the
Cathedral? Who operates the
projectors in your cinema? Who
is Oz?

Is Venice as pretty as the waterways
of Xochimilco? Can you compare
the summer grass to senators? (They're
both dead.) How did they smile
when they gave us ***, crack
*******, and canned ham?

Is stone butch or is water dry?

Why give us an earth when you
could have just as easily given us

the finger?

When will I ever be able to see the forests
of Columbia? The mountains in Algeria?
The dark British past? The Caspian Sea?

Down to you, I go. Once again. I'll
probably only see it in my sleep.
The dead can't speak
unless they're published,
where a chair is a chair
and a pipe isn't anything
but the Captain's orders--
where am I headed, caught
in a doldrums ready to spring
the Fountain, cheese and choc-
olate fondue to the Trap--
friends a mystery, FRIENDS
a history, stick it on a goldfish
Santana Montana Fantasia
cotton mill plantation imagination
of truth to power, sour ships sail
across the Atlantic, Adriatic, ******
city sporadic, erratic, where appraisals
only come to those that **** out
Lion Fish. Do we choose our fate?

Tapestry of mountains, star-studded
Your twisted agenda has me rolling
in graves that aren't mine.
suffering is a weaker bond,
unless the cause is collective,
instantaneous, immediate. what's
one frozen corpse to the millions
of hungry mouths?
Austin Boston Jan 2018
A Spanish cult brother
with a giant piquillo pepper
for an official hat, an
****, three squid, a pair
of broken Louis Vuitton sun-
glasses, a god with the head
of an Ibis, coming
through the restaurant kitchen
to whisk you into
The Land of The Dead.

Three eyed Frida beckons you
from her bed. Can you imagine
the conversation? It melts
in your hand like slave
chocolate and cubensis and
you cannot tell her how much
it means for you
to place your *******
onto the glowing center
of her Eternal.

***** can’t seem to grow much
harder than when around her.
She’s a star down here. Of course,
she’d much rather make love to
a queen of sheba than your
broke ***.

You didn’t even have the coins
to pay the ferryman.
Austin Boston Feb 2017
If I died tonight,
you wouldn't know.
The serpent sheds
scales all over my
**** and I don't
smell good to no one.

Trump is President
and old friends think the
Sioux should stop
complaining. It seems
to be a dark bottom of the
sixth, losing all kinds
of pitches to the pale
Horses of post-traumatic
stress disorder.

She's got three *****
in her mouth and any of
them are better than me.

She'll forget.
And I'll remember.
And the fire I carry up to
my mountain dies in
the rain.
It is no longer my mountain.
Austin Boston Jan 2017
Orcas hunting on
a North Dakota sky
swooping up bison
her name thru
your ear
in the doorway
on a ledge
in the Lodge
Orca calls sleek
Lakota sings her people
wind flushes
we all long
for Aurora
ocean spooking
bison into violent
ghost of
Sitting Bull
a haunting breathe
curve me
in the sand
Orcas beached
bison drowning in
the great river
build for us
a vessel
to carry
our warriors
of light, orcas
of sagebrush flame
take us there
and call me
sometime on the
Austin Boston Nov 2016
City of the Dead,
vents on a dryer outside
a hovel in the middle of
plaster town. Common,
calm calamity, cavalier
corroding creatures in the
dark, all fours outside
the dumpster cage cold-
blooded reptiles collapsing
charlie-horsing hot chocolate
Christ no courage no mailbox
no phlegm phantom phantasm
phat pharm pharcyde
in sleepless ****** varieties
salivating quitting quitting
QUITTING the trip trip drip
to blood and soil,
genocidal lions, only coming
in one color: white. That's
why I wear black '***
I live among the dead.
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