jackie collins is dead,
**** me,
maybe that's an opening
to sell a thousand
books on the sly
in her numbers of half
a billion sold.
the young 'uns are coming,
they have shelter
in broken hearts,
they have shelter
in shattered minds,
they have broken fingers
and sacrilegious testaments -
they dropped the iconoclast gimmick,
they're singing blaze of glory
and feeling ape,
hushing the horse's hoarse
nasal grunting
with a stomp with buckling
heels on the ground to show
a t-rex footing in a glass
of water;
ruptures in the wind!
the young 'uns are coming
hellbent and bruised
with every norman bates
monitored due to
the unaffordable house prices.