Machine Gun Girl

Does the names of all the pierceable parts
Roll off your pin-tamed tongue
Machine-gun girl?
Blood running down your face, your desirous rush, your spattered pearls?

Desiring difference so disco desperately
Whirling, writhing , sameness of sight
The flailing arms and lipstick legs of love
Gnashing gnarly whinnying whites

Hopeful still, slightly shocking, the wanton laddy, fodder for gawking?
Lurid lace, two girls kissing, MySpace
The Spanish Mohawk weirdly foo-foo fluff?
Should your baited breath, sing dirges of death?

Are you riding to battle, in downtown Seattle, outlaw-biker gang colors enough?
The tribal tattoo, a silly Halloween fool
A child’s dream, of being rough, tuff and sure enough, tattered stuff
Thorny mast, past full bloom

A 24-7 bastion of ball-busting fusion
A cacophony cart wheeling confusion
Too much trying, too tragically hip
With pouty ,poor, little punctured-ass lips