ode to Pier Paolo
riding in a car with Passolini
tires grinding against dirt roads...we try to spot fresh young meat so he can have something to eat.
"That one," he shouts...pointing out to the curly haired tan lad
that one is the one he shall have.
Feeling miserabe above all cause I cannot entice him, I fantasize of him as Socrates, and I a...
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*Throws hands in air, walks away mumbling...*