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Pedro Dell

pedro dell is a photographer, poet, musician, father, husband, & seeker. hire him at creative solutions photography, 216.559.0474 pedrodell@core.com

Under the world

Amerika's a pipe dream of beauty
Reserved for your ash
Burned enjoyment. Like
Ginsberg said: "Under the world
There's a lot of ass, a lot
Of cunt." Yeah, it's there ­
Under the world. Just like
He said it was. We put
It there.

Praise the overlord: Free
Floating third person casual
Observer of our nascent
Desires latent flaws seven
Deadlies. Witness the sulfur
Spewing match head blue
Tipped dragon chasing smoke.
Where there's fire always

That's where you'll find the
Flame swallowing forked
Tongue cloven hoof pubic
Monster we love to applaud.
You know the one, it's down
There where you keep your guilty
Pleasures: crotchless edible panties
Cock ring french tickler and
What not.

Christ, even Jesus had temptations
Flesh desires and flesh wounds.
My stigmata spouts blood
As I'm flung about the
Room; like Jesus I pardon
Myself before leaving office.
Son o' God's a great title
If you don't mind a little

NIMBY pollution pipe
HazWaste treatment
Incineration plant
Seeds in shit and see how
They grow, genetic engineered
Cross contaminated
Mutant vegetable protein
Supplement vitamin

At farmcorps located under
The world where it can go
Unnoticed by the couch
Potato chip TV hypnotized
Denial squads. Under the
World with the organized
Religion icon banks that
Overflow with Pontius Pilot's
Wash water.

Our diamond studded gold leaf
Encrusted God is not in
Heaven above; absolute
Deity resides below, under
The world where we hide
The stuff we really love
Protected from view of
Coveting neighbor crafty
Jealous thief.

Stay sadly away from my
Evil loot buried treasure
Chest. Under the world
Where I admire my steamy
Stash pleasure dome trash
Heap love shack good
Buzz shanty, naked except
For Ferlinghetti's

Clothesline pinned
Flag flying display
Of pure satisfaction.


Cleverly Disguised

In spite of the gyrating pasties and the
Wiggle-ass swooping down
In front of me, like a predator
Dive bombing for prey,
My eyes are glued to the
Sullen patron who can't
Or won't look up from his fifth
Vodka rocks and second pack of Kents

Tattooed tears on his cheeks cleverly
Disguised as umbrellas in rain, he's
Waiting for a secret message
Decoder ring to
Unravel the mystery of
Life so he can jot
It down in the margins of the
Bar nap with the idiotcentric cartoons

Candidly staring, my imagination drills
Into his psyche, concocting a
Dead soldier of family wars.
Strapped in a wind tunnel of
Fear perched on
Top of his angels
Clipped wing, birds of paradise

I see him sucked into a vacuum
Of snow covered desolation.
At least the snow is real.
The ice melts in his glass.
A butt extinguishes
Itself from neglect
In the crystal demise
Of his packed ashtray.

A saucy vixen shoves her cleavage
Under his down turned face
Emptying the crystal
Receptacle of his
Charred vision. There's no
Visible response, even when
A free pity drink arrives
Between the thighs of an unclad beauty.

They say beware of strangers bearing gifts.


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