by John Rocco
I have a touch of Evil
in me
throwing up the golden margaritas
of the sun
I didn’t buy.
Give me a break
boring universe angels
and the subway soul devils
always caging drinks
who never buy their
own cigarettes.
I know you.
It takes a lot
to crash the doors in
pull them from their
hard cold hinges
breaking them down
to say fuck the dinosaurs.
Fuck history and dates and museums.
Fuck the lines in the road.
It takes a lot
to say this
but the touch of evil
helps in singing the
apocalypse songs
Dostoyevsky happy
with her ass in my face
please please please
after and before
gargling with the
sweet whiskey of Hell.
*John Rocco at MySpace:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=292819823
March 7, 2009
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1 comments:
Both "Touch of Evil" and "Pizza Money" are excellent poems John. Accessibly surrealistic, bitter and grimy, blatantly nihilistic. "Dostoyevsky happy with her ass in my face," -fucking mental. Keep it strange yo.
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