Under the hood, the coldwater pump   lets the Monkey angels get us sick,   our flying flees and millipedes   Read our white count   and screen for the bug   The old fashioned physician treated bumps and bruises   Not hungry with tube feeding,   but the new slumber party   Cancer can't keep its solids down      We watch saints of popularity, rail thin snack on their Hollow legs.   The hairless pairs of replicas dance and gossip,   While at their feet are fighting fish,   the upper half is pressing   Flesh-some compaign of the neurotic black heart,   a vomit Competition.   The autograph is a lap dance from the grammaphone No one will touch   Their priorities bruised, and without memory   they had to start turning away the ghosts   Of ignored parents like the old men who work the vending machines   Who've only asked to use the toilet      Plastic dresses ath the biotech frontier tonight,   the pigeons are Continuous, their feathers burn toxic.   The medicine animal is A misfit to the drum,   desperate to duplicate the whimper like a snapshot.   Genetic jennies sip white zin and choose wallpaper   For the first boy crossbred with a sneaker's new nursery,   to sit Amidst change, a speak 'n' spell in his heart,   soon pacemakers Will be able to run for president,   or any creature with the proper papers,   until Detroit machinists, our laureates of the chariot...   Jesus Chrysler, cut me a break,   lay off the feelings and the spiders in the sink   and leave a depression in the wild,   a missing man without A car alarm   stuck in his knee or a pager in his palm.