hat track

hat track was on a USB stick in the burlap bag of a backpack And in a mess of garbage, but it was found and splattered Like an open fracture in the middle of being Unintentionally, like a bone in the mufti's pork The angel in the alley whispered to me that I was a poet I carry his breath on my shoulder like an epaulette. If I could fly, I'd climb naked. Into the clouds, rip and fuck the white seam of heaven That's what my guru bequeathed when structuring amp Azure threesome on black Mein Kampf He was a nondescript asshole, like Putin in the GDR. On a NATO bertsukha, on a "Lucifer" leather jacket , I entered his room without knocking, like a guard officer. In a single chiffonier, where he fed his chimeras We shared a fool with a twisted face. And one piece of waste paper with a bad ending The old man is a god in a white castle upstairs He's picking fleas in his groin Hug him, give him a filial kiss And blow it up, Lucifer Happiness for a man is jumping and playing pranks Kill and fuck, and forget in the morning Like a blown up creator — absolute eroticism So happiness for a man is absolute terrorism. That's what the coach told me, and his eyes are holes. They gaped in the dugout of the plague head He died well, like in a fairy tale dream. Hanging like a glove in a stupid window A satellite is stuck in the clean-shaven sky The plane is chugging, a sodomite is farting in it And the gray-haired tyrant, picking his nose In the clouds, composing a thunderstorm I hope you got the plastid. I smeared my fucker with it so I wouldn't have to hear a fucking thing Exploded like an abscess in the middle of existence In the Creator's office The old man is a god in a white castle upstairs He's picking fleas in his groin Hug him, give him a filial kiss And blow it up, Lucifer The old man is a god in a white castle upstairs He's picking fleas in his groin Hug him, give him a filial kiss And blow it up, Lucifer