Demons do all look alike. They are round
with wings and burning cheeks. I love bucktooth
fangs, scholars and poets all, those hellhound
coke-heads, all my dead friends with a sweet tooth
for flesh. The heavens were made in sevens
and I fuck in threes. Water still burns nerves
whose one duty is to delight. Demons
do all look alike; the way that the curves
and lines in cocks and cunts blur together,
if you’ve been with enough. If you haven’t:
‘ello, virgin. There’s a reason spirits
shun you. Like how I shun burning water
and the living. We love all wet, mutant
lovers; hellhound fucks; dead coke-head poets.