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Love can be kind or cruel
for a king or a fool.
Whispers quiet screams
in her troubled dreams,
blushes at first touch
then can't get enough.
Lust eats her very own
then forgets his name.
Swallows ***** sown
always tastes the same.
You bought your ticket to
this dark house of waste
lie on the filthy mattress
just one sweet final taste
heaven smile and statistics
tease your last goodnight.
You dream into darkness
then walk into the light.
Ginsberg's Howl
  The Poets vow
  Gulls squawk
  Gossips talk
  Allen's strange
  Seasons change
  Drunks stumble
  Empires crumble
I refuse to succumb to
surrender to old age.
I have no choice but
to turn the final page
read my lines on stage,
die against the rage.
All my poems are postscripts
of The World's Greatest Poets
now dust and teeth in crypts.

Shakespeare still takes the cake
for all the scratches that we make
pretending exposed as a fake.

Nothing is new under the sun.
Every line's already been done.
Maybe world's end will rerun.
I can't do this anymore.
Aimless daytime chores
pick up all the dog ****
clean the uppity cat's box.
Capture errant dust *****.
I'll start smoking again
addict myself to ******.
Overdose is my final sin.
I fell in love with your poetry
just a grey haired Aphrodite
imperfect face artifacts of age

we head to the all night diner
full of drag queens and communists
to steal a few words lost in smoke

amid the buzz we grab lines and
put them back like Salvador Dali,
Dylan Thomas and Charles Bukowski.
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