needles stick in
my arm
to push back
tonight’s needle
which is so stubborn and important


but who can argue with my snake-skin  taxes?
who challenges my green and proper suit?
don’t cross my White Detroit Crown!

(an interlude where this seems important)
some people break up in to groups
(discuss this in a supportive way)
a man runs into the snow for a handjob

<<< i resume the poem, already in progress >>>

in a cold desert
snap at the black,
black sky
where my (booze) kiss
is slobber

that bit of unpleasantness is behind us now
YES,  i can tell you about my old job:

i was known as a magic fucking  thing
who had a wang that sparkled
on jaggy tv screens
and film clips

you’ll figure out what I am
you’ll figure out what I have been
you will not love me any more

i’ll see to it, in fact

Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved