Otherwise in June, or maybe July
In West Hollywood, you— glowing neon,
Like Pelon, like                                                    GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!

Dimming sometimes,                                         inattentively untended
Like the East Bay, like a 14-inch MacBook
Desperate like Lisas, clicking junk Gmails

“Last Chance: Miracle Inside!"
Us—playing God,                                                getting got
Scientologically,

Aching for the better, faithing blindly
Like Shiatsu,                                                         like psychoanalysis
A couple chan zhen, for the QI
And a Victorian to associate, freely.

Slick slopes slowing, Arabs skinning
Low lights latticing, and Chesterton’s
Tangoing,                                                              all Brando with it, in Paris           
Like [redacted]*, *motherfuckers–

                                                                                 Ha!

Yeezy taught me, I feel like Pablo
Cubically gaming                                                like lamb,
like Mary had,                                                     The soft animal of my body

Hence in June, or maybe July
In West Hollywood, us – glowing neon,
Like Thich Quang Duc, like after                    pure sex