Innocence hitchhikes to the airport,
cracked Raybans melted to his diamond
nose, which scarfs a final nico-fog.
Where are you lumping to?
—I’ve just enough
for a one-way coach billet.
Your sorry burnt face will hang &
your sorry balloon is popped and raw,
………….in&out the oven.
………….It’s ashen and
…………………………..it’ll hang—
Picking and flaming another fruit,
he leapfrogs from the Honda.
His empty bag secured,
he puffs his chest and flies to Guam.
