dogs full of sea-dreams, of those expectations
which lie beyond expectations, of the
sun beating down and, in doing so, burning through color.
dead-men city, cut-plank grit,
the pirate ships are in,
lying off of brighton,
sheets as full as well-sucked tits
the pirate girls'll sail 'em.
used to be a moll
in the collage she happened to be in.
from there exiled for preferring hell:
those oxford monks,
fingers up her cunt,
instructed her she lived in
and she replied,
you all have died
though you're still alive.
soon the pirate ships will be in
off we go, dogs with genitals,
fierce and pierced, to all
we've yet to dream of
AND ALL YOU KNOW CAN GO TO HELL
YOU'VE FUCKED UP A WORLD
NOW SMELL YOUR OWN SMELL!