Frisco Angels

Frisco  1965

Man, you gotta see this,
crazy assed one per centers,
Patched  Angels,
touching tongues.

The Angels,
are fantasy for
the sadomasochistic

There is eroticism
in the chain inflicted welts.
Deviant  lust,
in the knife wound,
the psychopath.

“Shit, I’ll  take a blow-job
off some queer bent on the taste of a greasy balled outlaw any day,
for a twenty,
or a bottle of Jack.”

“Hell, I like it,
It’s Scorpio Rising!”

The Frisco Angels,
it doesn’t rattle them at all.

They’re harmless.


Leave a comment

Filed under American West, History, Outlaw poetry, poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s