Congealed asphalt rivulets of Philadelphia
Epicenter of America’s sin
In this pulsating toxic liver
I’d love the blessing of
an enlarged frog tongue
Imagine the googles
and gaggles of possibilities
My mouth would further its role
as the epicenter of self-sin
Hedonistic utensil
feeding my lust,
which, like Erysichthon,
gains hunger with each consumption
(Concluding in self-cannibalization)

Desperate for reason,
I’d employ an amoral crackhead
to padlock me within
the Sparks Shot Tower
Allowing me to unfurl
my gelatinous pink rope
like a fishing line cast
into the turbulent (drug) flowing waters
of sin’s capillaries

Think a refined and sensual rewrite
of ditsy blond Rapunzel’s tale

Rock, pot, scandalous prostitute, scandalous politician,
Airborne glock slug, nail in the Liberty Bell,
Green Yuengling bottle shards,
Clear heroin needle shards,
Butter-oiled crack pipe shards
Oil-laden hot cheesesteak, oil slick of hot car...
Wouldn’t have a hint of what passionate prince
my elastic stalactite
would bungee back up
But being Philadelphia,
he’s bound to be
more busy, bizarre, puzzling,
and chemically jacked up
Than nearby piping of
Bridesburg’s Rohm & Haas factory

          -February 2007