Hair Land

Boat dock The location started on third and fifteenth where Broadway intersects the walk sign the way a diamond intersects a punk show.

[The sails were lifted up, one hand rose into the air in salute of the white flag,] a man in a sweater waited on Captain meat goggles.

In the air (it had weight to it) A loner in the city paddles along, through broken heads of the working class, a man with an extra box in the boat with a freshly slaughtered warm vagina inside of it, where he dips his gloved hand in.

Now it can be sensed curling over the land in a vehicular fashion out of the ocean of suits and ties from the parted hair and blood the massive boat dripping wool socks, loafers, sweater vests, slacks, cardigans wet with dogs on sidewalk The Captain wears aviator glasses and a thick red scarf.

He rows the boat through their faces, He loves the smell of broken teeth in the morning.

The taste of copper coming