This is a Stick-up Asshole
I want your groin. I planned to cast a light
on your balls to insult them. Not hard.
Your groin longed to relocate with honors
into my brain. I guarantee that your groin’s
esteem carved a lovely/sickly sculpture
inside my cerebellum with slow undulations.
Thoughts bang upon my skull with the loudness
of a hailstorm on an old rusted tin roof.
I hunched my bovine body into a crouch—
in order to protect me from the dickhead
who assaulted me with his desire for an
“out of his skin blow job,” I crammed a virus
into his tiny brain to infect it with shame.
Our bodies collided with a single, spiritual,
oral-gasmic tube of ludeness within the universe—
another piss poor [Not Warhol’s piss on] creature
who begged to live in your groin, or my brain, because
after all—During an epidemic of extremists
in this world, heaven and/or hell reigned as the
number one vacation spot to visit in the universe.