At the Doorsteps of a Frat House in Oakland

The floor is an indication

of our generation’s pestilence

and the air is hot and heavy

 with the smell of incendiary nicotine

 and collegiate pheromones

Alpha Male MasturBeta

Phi Sigma Degrada

Statutory Gamma

Misogynist Omega

is the name of the place,

 I presume.

The women get in

for free; the men don’t.

women don’t have to pay

for the floors that insist

on sticking to their feet,

the cigarette butts littered

 by the hundreds,

the pecking order

the smell of his intoxicating cologne

 worn for this precise occasion,

the indifference to his virginal appeal

 the sudden groping of her a*s

roofies infiltrated into her now

 Unnatural Natural Ice.

bile; the product of both her alleviation

 and torture,

a buoyancy of intestinal ambivalence

floating in the toilet in

the furthermost stall.

 the suffocating condoms

entrenched into his predatory wallet

reflections in the cracked

 and vandalized

mirror showing the hedonists

 their despondent self portraits,

her fertile hips gyrating

against his anxious crotch,

denim on denim intercourse

they pass off as dancing. 

the incessant, stupefying boom bap

coming from the speakers

of some pro capitalist rap star

asking them to revel

 in their mutual ignorance,

while he strokes his metaphoric c**k.

DJ, I have one request, that’s all.

Just one song, please.

Can you play Jesus Children

by Stevie Wonder?

 

Hello Jesus 
Jesus children 
Jesus loves you 
Jesus children 
Hello children Jesus loves you of America 

I find it relevant to the party.

We bargain with the f**k of a doorman to let us in.

He argues it’s “$5 for the atmosphere”

The UTMOST FEAR!

Reviews

[L.Edward]

Reminds me of Ginsberg. Classy stuff.