B = Ball Bat Queen

harleywhore

B = Ball Bat Queen

Like a broken dream

A fantasy realized turned sour

Pissing blood

Fire hose torrents

Given unto her grift,

Wanting to trust,

Knowing the dead chicken would not

Rot off her neck in time,

Feeling taken by wretched loneliness

Really needing a dick work out,

A sweaty, passionate lengthy journey

Past the rhythm leaving her coming and coming

Spent

Brassy like fiery trumpets of REO tricycle doom

Crappy classic rock and what passed for metal

Trite crackly Sovtek tube crunch eardrums

Attempting so ardently for hip

For coolness

Like the perfect summer drink in dry ears,

Only a misgiving, only a poor feat,

All he wanted to know was did I fuck you.

Yes,

you asked me, you fucked me star eyed one – nail cakes,

Like a parking lot status fuck for elevation in what you thought 

Seemed like a fun little club

And the dismissal of importance in too many things,

Wound you up in a dire circumstance of fuck and fight

With an institutionalized Hill Billy bozo,

Like a Steely Dan gaucho or Jack of Speed

Where the drug is PTSD madness and the cure

Will be suicide brains spattered on a cheezy apartment’s wall.

No firearms were used.

©2016mhumunculero

 

harleyquinnbatfuck

2 comments on “B = Ball Bat Queen

  1. Ha! What a great write, Mondo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love this! And the picture really tops it off with BIG BANG! hahahahhahahahaaa… great work, brother!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>