"King Prion."
Hoooooooo!
Wore a highbrow eyebrow, pencil skirt, and smile,
and bent over the medical suite table in San Diego.
Wholly martyred from the bottom to the top,
listened to the transistor head like a holyroller.
Leapt analog into the brain's manifolded pantywaist ladder
raddle.
Was it for this Fata Androgyana, you held your blade
to the whetstone roll'd in time's big haystack o'needles.
I'll trade you the spindly future, cell failure
in the auricular canal and oracular chamber,
for a quantity of hamburger right now.
Hot and mashed like a tissue in the pocket, a re-mastered card
in the second gut.
How I love a little pick-n-roll on the side,
on the distaff side.
Death's issue casts his bolt from the blue to the brain
like a bolt in the brain.