Darren Wershler-Henry

3. White Zombie

Footsoldier in the armies of the electric head phone sects compete for the
teeth of saint paul to spay peter caught in your hand or the meat in your
mouth organs torn from a virgin's chest x-ray voodoo glow skull eyes the
airscoop cut through the hole in the hood as it bobs behind tinted glass
slippers' heel ground needle sharp turns against its master tapes run
through a cuisinart brut machismo smell of shemale shimmies a sequin bikini
atoll of the belljar traps the shrinking man from glad bags full of purple
buds foam and spurt blood milk and sky writing letters that spell summons
forth elder gods from the trailer parks beside a canary yellow mustang mach
3 stooges slash each other with broken fun house mirrors buried under
bolivian marching dust bunnies beat a big bass drum skin sags as the corpse
rots on the slab till a coroner sees the toe tag you're it is not heresy
and I will not recant.

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