Swoosh

apart from the Parthenon,

down West End

we all swooned

when we saw Athena holding Nike

like "That's what the shoes were named after."

and back then it's no shame

or big thing to have fleet feet

and to flop around when you run

it's kind of like ass-slaps in your favorite game;

we know the dance around the masculinity question

but for the violence and but for the brains

but for the Red Bull can pyramid

and the tapped-out soul

of a goy fresh out of the recovery zoo,

that carpeted utility

designated NPO

that wompy zone of bewilderment

tied tight with twine from mom's gift closet

a shark-breathed bottom,

a chortling, sinister construction

of a disordered soul

Catholic Cool

poetry-reading confessional
catholicity in the punk light
jaundiced leanings either left or right
and it's like wow man did you forget about the other dimensions?
my sphere of influence is most definitely a sphere
it's natural

pentagram tattoos are real punk
until the devil comes to your party
and steals all your shit and takes your girl
and burns the whole complex down and
then sits you down and says
dude chill
it's all good
and you wake up like what in the WORLD?

exactly