losing it at blockbuster

it's hell, a video store at night
with worthless young clerks fucking up,
the birthright of Hollywood slaves
in endless rituals of group nonsense,

humanity as animated cartoon minions
waiting to rent the latest adult thing
so their jaded tastes can become tasteless
with VHS nude fodder or Disney myopics
never growing old, perennially teen-senile
with the importance of being 
20 video monitors stacked together
like a video fly god's honeycombed Orb
simultaneously watching you
peripherally you may be watching too,
unconsciously taking-in ultraviolet ions
redressing your segmented undermind:

it's heaven
reflected by
kino-kinkiness for overnight rental
stocking-stuffing up yours

(customer satisfaction guaranteed & we'll
delete your late charges tonite, cheri
for a peek at your luscious hang-ups
in creaming close-up)

at cine-worlds' sexy
warm machine flesh
your third eye blind now,
a shadowy illumination of taboo
only high children knew
the place where mass voyeurs
watch in ecstasy
a supernova dick
explode

the last black hole
in space
we starflies
suck
in


Horizontal Hold

It's like you're saying
"I'M A HOT-ASSED GHETTO BITCH!"
with your cunt ass ripe
for penetrating oil
while watching Edge of Night
reciting the multi-syllabic Cantos
cribbed from the latest
academic sex conferences
featuring famous somnambulists
blowing shit ...

It's like the dead
are in the air around you,
waiting to re-apportion
your genitals
within one yawning orifice,
The Hollywood Void?
Or maybe you're glued to fame
"Sex-Power-Wealth"
& seek rebirth therefrom
an electronic spark,

something I watch your TV
Hustler video reflecting
though I'm powerless
to burst from my crawlspace

(& change your channel
before the censoring hypocrisy
of voyeurs screwing
you --)

in a kiddy porn
snuff-flick 
bootlegged
to Afghanistan.

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