from the silent dawn by
the helmet on your head
you goose your teddybear of fantasy
screaming in despair: O holy gloom so violent,
the three wise queers are dead!

hingeless doors lead into whitewashed rooms
crawling with ugly cartoon people
all cracking jokes in word balloons
connected to their latest hairstyles.
Undaunted by your handicap
you waltz in like the moon

as they masturbate fourfingeredly
& ejaculate into their plastic cups
of lukewarm instant coffee.
What's Your Name? a small guy quips
whose left testicle grows
right out of his nose

I'm Prejudiced! you reply in rage
& rip him forthwith off the page.


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