Por Ángel Valenzuela
I see my brethren walking together back to Babylon.
Hordes of sodomites, sleep spread unto their eyes.
I march along. Waiting for the new sun to rise.
Nuit Blanche is our Fool’s Gold.
Down on Route 66, we stop at a desert diner.
Waitresses with Betties, Candies and Gingers on their name tags
serve lemon pie while lusting over old fart truckers.
Holy Holly! Guide us through the wild side!
Honey was a crack whore. She now stars in Art house films.
Altar boys dream of being her just as she dreamt
as a young boy, of being a girl with a muff, tits and all.
Bent on her knees with a mouthful of cock.
We knock on his door, my brothers and me.
Lot!, we holler, give us them beautiful angels,
for we overflow with juice of man.
Holy Holly! Oh, Saintly Holly! I hear them moan.
Crimson fingernails grip their divine tremorous hips.
We prepare for the Second Coming
gagging on a mouthful of cock.
Bent on our knees we are baptized in spunk.