There are no animals. Seeing balcony railings, park benches, window ledges in the Great Metropolis, everyone aches at the memory of birds


Montezuma stuffs tacos for throngs at Taco Bell, wearing flayed skin of Corts, the rest of whom waits hopelessly nearby for golden fries


On tube, The Genghis Khan Factor: the Mongol & Rush Limbaugh utterly agree & wink & are wed on air: the consummation is Hell's reality TV


In the cleric's bar: Khomeini regrets his fatwa getting Rushdie laid 1000 times; Jimmy Swaggart regrets the ayatollah not going after him


Hoa the Saigon bargirl died by drug-addled American's jealous hand, now drinks Hell Tea alone, longing for the way he tonguetipped her spine


Bronx tagger Scat 164, with can of cobalt blue, can't tag on empty wall: it was always about who he is: still got Scat but he got no street


A host of Holy Men here, unaware religions are performance art & their truths metaphorical: when metaphor turns into dogma, real sin begins


Hell's Great Metropolis is ringed in mountains where, in a cave, Osama bin Laden forever mistakes Cecil Rhodes for an adorable mountain goat


Hugh Hefner finds a blue pill at his bedside: he takes it & what he then has will never end & there is nowhere to put it & no doctor to call


Gertrude Stein gorges on bad hash Twinkies & reads Harlequins in apartment hung with Thomas Kinkades & finds that a Hell is a Hell is a Hell


One 4-letter word is never ever spoken, the L-word, & many spend the long night wracked by how a parent, a spouse prefigured this for them


When she comes to earth at night to steal seed to make demons, Lilith knows the man is dreaming of someone else. Even succubi suffer in Hell


A Christian, a Jew, a Muslim, a Hindu & an athiest are in a boat on the River Styx, heading for the dock, waiting for the joke to end


He put just-for-them nude pix of ex on Internet. Now he dangles naked on city-center lamppost: tiny enough before, it's even tinier here


His grocery had a broom at check-out, charged to each stranger. If they noticed: O wasn't it yours? He & broom do B. Madoff's high colonic


Ended as bones under a dump fire in the Jersey Meadowlands, he is now reassembled, still an unmade man, once Joey Onions, here he's John Doe


For Ben it's all about a woman he left for another: she whistled tunes: he hears her thru the walls: he will forever hear her whistling


Descartes' mother coughed blood & died before he could speak, think: he knows now he hid in his mind: ustulo ergo sum: I burn therefore I am




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