So many pigs cruisin’
this immoral city.
Too many of these fuckers with their greedy
snouts plugged in to the grindstone or up a sugar daddy’s puckered up asshole. Sniffing
or wet kissing the top pig’s brown hole with unlikely gusto. Sniffing is best
they say, like a healthy medication.
I don’t buy a
word of it, not from the wild boars
or the city pigs.
drenched in
neurotic sweat ~ out of their minds
black and charred
to the lying bone.
hoping they
won’t be the lead on the 6 o’clock news.
Pigs rolling in
the city.
Pigs on the
take. Under the table. Crooked as fuck.
Pigs in a blanket
sweating the fat sweat ~ rape behind the badge. Corruption’s casual as their deft hypocrisy.
Pigs ultimately going the long way under,
slowly drowning
in their own stink ~
squealing a last
grand harrumph! through a mouthful of the warm diarrhea.
Pigs in the end
eerily never calming.
Festering in a
cramped testicle knot ~ pigs throat deep in the brown stuff making up with
their conscience.
Running scared
from the pig butt fuckers. Pig butt fuckees they call em’.
Tortured pigs
turning up dead with an impossible hard on,
dead in their
pig pen lots.
Victor Millan
No comments:
Post a Comment