after having Sam's Tunnel
tatooed across your cheeks
you have no choice but to sing
those junky whore-shanty tunes
to that concrete catered music

from the soles of your feet
to the crown of your skull
there's not one inch
of flesh left unbranded
and unclaimed

after all: since Adam first
met Eve, there's been a snake
in the grass, a canary in the tree
and a rat poking its nose
up out through the subway floor

Sam's a devourer of souls
and you're his just desserts

5/8/89 Astoria 12:22 am