Lemons

Most beautiful god's creatures
whichever god you think of
are lemons
so washed-out
exhausting

they're like travelin' women
in a static glance
w/ their yellow tight peels dirty
acid insides
lavatorial lips
screaming: Porter!

oh where are all travelin' women
beerlovin' kind cunts of friendship
slick and disastrous with their Irish hair
curling
bays of the outer green depths
my lemons...

waving their flags on cheek galleon's masts
holding the steer
like a stainless steel razor
taking you west
from the tights rooms of opium
swinging in syncopes
mad surgeon's hypes
all clued-up
immortal

squeeze them the way they like to

most beautiful god's creatures
whichever god you think of
must be properly used
before the dawn
eats
their gringo

this way, the girly show!

Living in the memory
of a broken man...