Gore Vidal Screamed.

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Bathroom Noir-fiction. Escargot opium taste. (Slid down the throat). Dr. Benway, allowed the risk of copyright infringement.
Thus the IV drip has leaked from the toilet into the hallway. Ankles submerged in clean tap water. Steps forward. Blank. As capitalism’s wink into the camera. (Held for applause). Two fingers walked like commissioned reports on the current state of affairs. Past the belt line, into the Bible text of Free-Verse mundane. (fucked off).
“What’s that?”
“God is dead?”
“Yes. And so is Nietzsche’s imperialism.”
Choked.
That is auto-erotic-asphyxiation.
That is raindrops soaked the self induced harm of Golden Calf worship.(Worshiped).
“Ah, be limber darling. As the finger goes-in the penis will erect itself.”
All the
Fucking,
Fucking,
Fucking.
Necrophilia? No.
“They’re alive?”
“Yes.?.”
“Then why are their squints dead looking?”
“The taxidermist forgot to put mirrors behind the pupils.”
“…but that doesn’t explain anything but vanity.”

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