I asked this question last night, but no one was online. Tell me what you think?

These trite, tattered, ponchos and scarfs say p*ss and five bucks about me.

I cut my own lawn with silver nail clippers

Supported by short, grody fingers

That have been blistered pressing wire hangers downtown, Nebraska

and f*cked real bad scraping pie crust drippings from the bottom of my landlord's gas oven.

I sweep the porch before heading off, Tulsa Welding School,

place's like a feild day scent, latex caricature.

Ovens claming, Tight wound metal devices,

like the guts of a clock,

tick-tockin'.

and studio girls and boys, gather because of collected pompous attitudes,

to share slick, icy gestures

lip-lockin'

without me.

I snort ashes from the thighs of virgins,

And chew the human adrenaline gland.

Clearwater is a perfume luxury,

Fish rot while they're still swimming.

Mexico City

I bought buckets of cheap jewelry

On my visit, to dig for buried treasure,

But I didn't like the weather.

Now I'm back and wearing leather,

Waiting for my umbrella.

The first days are spent comptemplating what I know I know.

A fraction is a division problem.

Mile long one step equations force children over jungle gym tops.

A man owns the river I went down to draw,

';Tresspassing,'; the sign complained,

Holding me back with a silver chain.

I keep on walking.

Instead of water, mud and garbage sunk on the bottom of natural crater

When the silver thawed, swampy pickle trees with thin trunks drooped like tired d*cks,

Exhausted sucking moisture from the soft mother bricks.

Over the gloss and sticky dirt carnival, hurricane disaster,

Plastic bag habitat, Silver man tricks

CLEAR WATER IS A PURFUME LUXARY,

FISH ROT WHILE THEY'RE STILL SWIMMING.

I sat to draw what I saw,

and it all turned out quite charming.

I seek pleasure. I seek the nerves under your skin. I am old hero, older then wacko pervert superf*cking man. I am wh*re who seeks experience. Excitement. Curiosity. The only conscious thing in our world is to love and be loved. Seek the hollow thrill. Say how you really, really feel. I am sister of the gods and gods own daughter slaughter. Will you be my daddy? Will you be my girlfriend? The single family who branches out from Rome, to Australia, to Brazil, and Puro, to Africa and Nebraska. Desire is a heat rash, but no illusion. Teeter forever on those golden scales, then sing me into eternity. I wanna be you lover. I wanna be your man. Day old Joey with gray hair, premature baby cries heart into salt canal. Secluded movie stars don't get paid for sagging breasts. Cashier boy's Calvin fixed scent lingers deep after hours, take a shower, pick some flowers, stolen change. We're all here now and everything's okay. We're all coming over now, and we won't be leaving right away. I fall into a pit. Pit of sh*t and sh*t. Inside of it. I skip like so many school kids, think of when time stops, electricity. I am inside a cartoon and I can't feel a pinch but I like it like that, like it like that, like it like that. These trite, tattern ponchos and scarves say p*ss and five bucks about me. I grow the fur of an animal under my arms and cut my own lawn with silver nail clippers, supported by, short, grody fingers, blistered pressing wire hangers, scraping pie crust drippings. Place is like a field day scent, latex caricature. Ovens and clamming steel machines like the guts of a clock, tick tockin', rock n' roll, tick tockin', my generation, beating. Can you feel? Stink.I asked this question last night, but no one was online. Tell me what you think?
uhh are you sure it just wasn't that it's way too long for anyone to want to read? i mean i know i didt read the thing