At Abergroupie & Fetish
The young people just
Can’t keep their pajamas
Up. Neither modish nor faddish
The boys look like licked pecs;
Chicks also, with that slapped
Around, feral, solipsist
Chic. In Ovid’s epic
In-scope work, the tongue
Stuck to the mirror, didn’t
It? Whatever. The forbidden
Fruit’s sox in the trunks,
I think. Gap gone bad. Ipecac
Gaze. They do look pretty tough,
Bagged, rampant and mounted. Stuffed
Animals. Gel over kapok,
Whispers Mr. Hemingway
Here, from behind the arras.
He says you bet your ass.
But they’re cute as minxes, ink-weigh.
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