Thanks for all the bread

Mid-town continental
emaciated portions
overpriced selections
I want to swing
a bamboo seat too.
But instead we’re crushed
one seat away from
the worst pinky dick lover
that any man-whore ever saw.
Late skip home
lost a peacock feather
must have been worth something
more precious than
a flourless chocolate torte
or a tina-tina epiphany.
The kind that comes
during a too unlimited
dance party in the south
where the going rate
to ass punch a hooker
is a decided fifty dollars
to cover for the bruise insurance.
We practice moves for
our off Broadway show
highlighting the bests of 2306.
“And hey, thanks for all the bread!”
says a furry visitor.
Up and down masturbator
screaming on the third floor
“Has anyone here seen Coquo?”

by Kate Green