Tell me something new about the skull
smelling up our house on the swamp.
Can he screw every black man walking the earth?
Can he screw every vulnerable child fighting his war?
His friend with Titanic eyes dreams of leather whips,
strong hemp rope, and hand rolled cigars. He fancies
himself an otolaryngologist
with the sweet smells of strange fruit lulling him
into the dark halls of insanity.
Such is the Fascist auto pleasuring
his rocket of autocracy.