Fierce Brownie Voodoo in the Lesbian Love Lair
My inner voice is deaf.
Wait, start again. My inner voice
is deaf. It's signs to me:
"We aim to get out front and stay out front"
like a Nascar guy.
Nascar guy, will you work this Barbie karaoke mic
as hard as the area behind the hot tub
works, most weekdays at least--that area where
all the things the Chihuahua needs are?
The nice Nascar guy agreed to smuggle the Chihuahua
through customs in a cheese puff bag--
if we can just make it
off the floor.
The floor cradles all parts of our bodies
at once. Its is the opposite of
the area behind the hot tub which is full of
tough questions and demands on our hands.
It's pink. You can drink it
or behind the hot tub with a Chihuahua.
Duh dude the answer's totally D.
The Language of the Fireplace is
an ancient night time mystery. No one
has ever spoken it, and no one ever will.
So, soon it will be extinct--it can't go on like this.
It can't go on like this--there will always be
something more glamorous than the badgers
of our own backyard. Electrocuting a donkey's
funner barefoot, but it's even funner barefoot
Can The Language of the Fireplace go on, a little
freaked out with the whole town gathered Œround
to jerk off outside the windows? For how long?
Monday's when the world goes back to work.
A flat tire's this town's way of keeping you
around: drunk, disorderly, changing in and out
of your bathing suit with all the lights on, both mired
and mirrored in nature.