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