. bye bye, ms. american pie...

ever find a hallucination
of a strawberry in a cigarette?
or a vanilla ice-cream cone
in a bottle of rye?

dear ms. amber, dear ms. amber,
dear mr, john smithy...
could i possibly take ylur daughter
to the dance?

may you be the beauty i sometimes
expected as a wife...
who heeds ****...
just listen to teenage girls prior
to the "ultimate" loss
of virginity...

to name but one...
she clearly lost her sort of bit,
Madonna music immunity....
to boot...
       abooktopia...

does that word mean anything
without a children's book
contracts by publishers?
or therefore, with?

                 i forgot to ensure
curating an interest in...
    to overcome the summary
of the crude encompassing of...
klaus doldinger....

              erinnerung...

    tod spricht vorausgehend
       zu leben...

it's almost funny...
people with the sole capacity to
recite...
merely ******,
  Himmler,
        Göring,
                   Goebbels...
      
               but i thought Nazis were
in season?
i thought society required Nazis?!
   such a pithy...
such puny recitals!
               almost all of the WWI soldiers
under Wilhelm were
deemed heroes...
      thank **** that i'm not even
a quarter German...
given... what the united powers
did converging over
Berlin... with the ***** epidemic...

    even though i'm Polish...
and i remember my great-grandmother
hiding from both the Nazis and
the Red Army...
you want a ******* villain...
i'll be a **** for you...
no problem...

                      i sort of have a fetish
for the Dritte ***** uniforms...
       lodged in a Indiana Jones movie...
**** it...
suit up and boot me in into
the act...
            i don't mind...
what you can't take away
from the Nazis that you can take
away from all other antagonists...
pristine tailoring!
     you can't match up
to whatever axis / empire of evil...
and "think"
you can out-compete
the tailoring of **** uniforms...
no chance in hell...
however many
pineapples harvey keitel
shoves up Adolf ******'s ***...
  
it's still Armani grey when it comes
to the uniformed officers
of the the Wehrmacht...
as it is the: sly "little" number...
for the Coco Chanel... SS
splinter, base, bias, *****.

if people are so desperate for
a ****?  
  can you really starve the people?
and not give them one?!
that would be most cruel...
i think people deserve a bull's eye!

you're most welcome...
   there i was, suffocating on the fact...
that you were disorientated...
and pointing at false actors of...
what you expected to be
the motivational enzyme -
sole curator,
               of forwarding history;

why didn't these people come to
me sooner?
  i would have played the **** sooner!

The beauty of comatose can only be seen through
the eyes of a wizard in a blizzard
strutting in garlic slippers,

or Christ with knees bent at the tabernacle
peeling bananas and kicking prayers
farther than eternity with each gapping second,

or like Basquiat slumped back to the wall,
with ounces of speedball dancing through his veins,
eating 80’s free-based fried chicken *******  

as his eyelids paints beautiful nightmares of lemon flowers
and Bacchus bacon over a glycopyrrolate desert
of flagrant cuckold buffoonery.

Or like leprechauns burning chocolate ******* candles
on the mantle of Zion, sipping oatmeal sprinkled
with Staten Island malt liquor bacon.

or like Tupac reading the thoughts of Mother Shipton
through the daze of California cannabis
and hearing the ominous voice of Plutarch sing death assignments

from heaven to Assassins on horsebacks goggling ***** water
to wet the dry bones of their throats as they prepare to fulfill
the gospel of self-fulfilling prophecies of being fell by ***** bullets.

Or like sophisticated wallets of spice and kitchen characters in a bald head
cooking chemical kisses and 18 February nights under Moloch’s skin,
where constitutions are written in charcoal diaries with Egyptian ciphers and razors.

“I had rain sowed into the pockets of my sneakers and composed 1310 eulogies
at the basement of king David’s tower,” said the Kraftwerkian caricature,
as he dangles cigarettes in remembrance of Klaus Nomi and philosophizes on the proliferation
of poetic vandalism at urinals where modernism failed under the phosphorescence of coloration at the avenue of no trees where Picasso's "Guernica" **** Lies All.