I know that you wouldn't sell my hands to hand surgeons. I know. I know that you wouldn't sell my hands to hand surgeons who were from Venezuela. I know.**

It's a retreat of raw meat when I'm quick on my feet like Pecos Pete
whose staph stang shells struck in sails shorn by sheep as they bleat
that ***-change surgery ups ***-craziness in the gender-incomplete
from the wilds of London to the green, Greekish island called Crete
where icy slime & hot wax oozes from skanks like hard-won deceit