4. axe

Poor boy strides the runaround

He’s laughing in the dark

An entourage of idiot hawks 

Bought into his cult persona

It filled a hole

Under guise of Geils band

Her faces melting, two

Sommeliers in midnight boxes

Fetching Barb from next door

Crossbeam dream

Tattooed meth head shaking hands

He’s lookin’ kinda blue

Enshrined with Piss Christ plastic bottles

Sitting sukhasana at the corner store

But three nights clean

Port of call, O’ahu-bound

My girl’s a native spark

She ties my hands, blindfolded

Fire-walking with an axe of Koa

She’s in control

COMMENTS: a hymn of vices