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To Part I

Pulled Pork Manifesto
Part II

might as well have another cigarette and coffee and pace away the shag from the rug a path from and to the window which sucks the heat out of control soul flying invisible into the well lit night somersaulting Orion's studded punk rock belt up up and away into the cremated ashes of our cosmic urn searching for a chunk of bone to retrieve from the collective sub conscious and bring back to my window waiting open for my falcon to return poems to me in trade for a live rat in a shoebox and a dead Christmas rabbit squished by my unyeilding will to make it home under the snow with no sight of the road or the lines of white blistering crystal particles racing across giant synapse gaps of blue electricity over white echoes of screeching tires burning rubber for heat in this attic apartment covered by an avalanche of iced rose petals not melted by the barrel fire burning beneath them in my brain which is trying to reach them existentially on this bewitched night coated with worn hope that may be ready for the goodwill box on Clinton Avenue where the potential really squanders itself on popular charity next door to the 99cent store below a neon crucifix shuddering with disbelief over a martyrless world where ravenous dogs wait for kittens to be born with no heart left to break or conscience to care for little lambs warming motherless rabbits under the roof of a burning manger