There was a rat, there was and there was. Rat was and was rat there or ranger. Was range present or at a distant ridge. Was and was and was and passive. Without voice. Was voice rangy yes no maybe more of that pastoral tune would do but not now nor then and Zen zeroed out in ginger. Who do you want to fuck Ginger or Mary Ann or do you want to marry her and her who is she. She is the point. He is the Doberman thus sun comes between. Day after day divided by bray brings us away from fucking and fucking brings the world right here to this spot this hot plot of panders. Words come so slowly. Passive reigns. Regicide passes out on the sidewalk. Twice then thrice then twat. As long as there’s Heterosexuality misogyny cannot be wiped off or out and out of this box there’s jack. Heterosexuality cannot be disposed of unless the concept of human is tossed out the tenth floor window. Which is good. Without it there’d be nothing to look at. Look at him. Strip that grin. Those clothes. Lasso his cock. Tell it how it is. Regis is fucking a babe named Leandra. His contract has turned a blind eye. The eyes of this spider are beside her. Every room romanticizes bestiary. Without rhetoric what could writing do than be dull as some dullard but then he’s dead and in an uncanny position. I’m enthralled. Dead men rock. Men are like geology as seen through a shattered mirror. Men are and passivity is and these two nodes are congruent. These words are inspired by Ariana Reines even as they bear do I mean bare no close connection. I wish this could pass as prose. It can’t and I can’t and can’t is and is at times passive but who cares who cares who cares not even I do though I don’t matter but oh you are mega.