Warning: do NOT read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious.
Baroque Polish Sausage in the Mouth of a Renaissance Mona Lisa
An opera on the Dan Ryan Expressway as it flies into Michelle Obama’s vagina
A poem by Wolf Larsen
Sung by the multitudes of homeless on the streets of Chicago
allegro
All the statues across the world suddenly jump up and start playing musical instruments as they skip through the streets
And all the passerby skip after the skipping statues
And the passerby all holler the universe out of their lungs with all the planets & moons & suns rushing out of their mouths
Then a madman with a machine gun starts shooting all the planets & moons & suns full of bullet holes
The madman is the President of the United States of America
The president is a Demopublican, definitely not a Republicrat
Then lots of American belly buttons in the sky start shooting nuclear missiles everywhere
Because Iran & North Korea & Russia & China & Vietnam & Afghanistan & Iraq are not democratic enough and are responsible for terrorist-bubblegum-kangaroo-flying-saucers meddling in the elections and causing the loss of Margaret-Hilary-Thatcher-Clinton
But what does all of this have to do with scratching my balls while I look at the topless First Lady on the Internet hubba hubba? So now I’m masturbating the giant Buddhist temple between the legs of that Thesaurus Rex standing there proudly at the museum, and then the trumpet between my legs ejaculates summer & beer & house music all over the South Side of Chicago
So everybody applauds as all the Greek & Roman statues in Europe ride wild dolphins through the sky
Then all the statues ride the wild dolphins through Renaissance & Baroque & Romantic paintings in those museums in Europe
And all the statues riding wild dolphins are singing an opera of drive-by shootings & selling crack-cocaine & easy-easy-women
Whose legs open to all of the nuclear missiles shooting out of the belly buttons in the sky
As Jesus the carpenter from in front of Home Depot sits at a table with the AK-47 Disciples
And they’re all stuffing giant collages of human faces into their mouths
And drinking the end of the poem together
Copyright 2020 by Wolf Larsen