for the literary underground and tiny amp records
putting cigarettes out on what
used to be GG Allin’s
body at one in the
morning like a poisonous
snake in the mailbox
of the world or a poorly
taxidermyed bear in jake’s
backyard where gigantic
eaglemen throw rocks at
undercover cops and comic
book artists in some
smoke filled room meeting
old friends for the first
time and shaking hands
twice just to be sure
because well now it will
all feel transcendental
like howling at the
cinematic moon of greek
warriors in mountain lion
fur coats from the
foot of henry’s ladder
–Dustin Holland