Saturday

cutting strata

Mona needed to find some one else who was whole so she could with her hole -- genealogy of wisdom is what she was after in the days and songs of her cunt -- Mona won't be going anywhere with her dread[ful] desire machines -- stick my prick in her mouth -- make desire shouts its name -- scream fuck me baby, fuck my ass, hold me christ, fuck my face, hold my ass, tighter don't forget , love me baby; said Mona on her way down the fireman's pole that was not a phallus, a phallus of clapping and fire not like the underlings of city mayoralty campaigns; no, what does it mean; its the dream of your lips ten years aftering and before in the intertextual kiss of your lips; buried head in her hips, mother jewel, no, not like Mona bliss