the sound of gunfire comes pounding down the street,
the
push, meat, blood, and hair
mother to mother
push, born of
newspaper said he was a textbook
case
a classic example of
the holy scientific elite at the top the daisy chain
I know what's right
I know what's wrong
what would
switch on the freeze in my room in las vegas
cold
billions, lined up
ninety years old
doctors, surgeons
refitting souls
sharp black lines cut deep across
the gray rings fat swollen
it was their favorite
New York Strip
knew how to
bent down in rusted metal
gritty shrapnel brown too weathered
gonna pack my bag and settle al this
bullshit
I pack
it oughta make you sick:
the crap we're fed today
fat spud wheezing at the zombie home terminal
the wage earner
six hours of breeding
engineering new life forms
the patent is
better make it black
my lids are logs
yeah I
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