American Idol

The sexless, godless
communist
machine

that Lorenzo Lamas built

died Wednesday at eleven-oh-four
PM. What I dislike
most about being alive

is the knowingness in the eyes of
black people

when I glance up from the register
as they enter the store. Even though

I don't follow them at all,
I know they think I think

they're stealing. And that hurts;

unlike death, which is sexy, and
godfearing. "I only wish we'd
had more time, " the black widow

mourns, bearing her scarlet hourglass
in the form of discrete pasties
cupping her nipples. She sure puts on one

helluva show. As for me, I'm just
paranoid. For homeland security,

I keep my eyes on the screen, and my hands
to myself.

2003/02/20 08:32:34


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ARCADIA: long poem serialized in the muse apprentice guild: http://www.muse-apprentice-guild.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html


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