Amish Girls


Amish girls in ripped hose with their ass in the wind,
Coming down the hill in springtime, juicy as ripe peaches,
Every inch of sweaty pink cool,
Asian wife and mother in pantyhose in the supermarket,
Amish girls with their ass in the mud,
Her flesh here and now—
I won’t say what I ate but it tasted like the ass of a mother at midnight
I prayed to her soul counting to ten—
When I dream of Amy, the Puerto Rican girl of my dreams
I wonder how she’d look dressed as an Amish girl or least Mennonite
Mother and daughter making a perfect pair
No one’s denying that her mother’s a whore—
Three women vomiting in a row,
Walt Whitman screams in vain,
Her eyes like salamanders crawl to the moon from the flame,
I liked her Ashkenazi accent,
She spit in her palm and went to work—
Ashkenazi Amish girls pissing apple cider in the pouring rain,
Walking to school on the moon on the way to Mars—
Words not doing Mary justice, she shit instead—
Into the stream of consciousness that’s been played by surfer sk8terboys and their punk rock mop top girlfriends on the beaches of eternity,
With Brian Wilson set aflame, a revolutionary hiding in the hills
From Nixon’s men, Castro’s Cuba freed—
Ashkenazi Amish girls’ cooch like ripe peaches—
Walking to school like Japanese girls,
Rancid witches soon to be extinct—
Would be whores aborted, their souls dismantled and
Left to live in castles in the sky before they’re born—
Where great souls go to pick up easy teen cooch,
The virgins are silent as Ashkenazi Amish whore
Living in shacks on the outskirts of villages,
Some widowed and living the life of cats,
When flames shoot from the moon—
My favorite porn star mother of three—
Her house in the valley is a mansion beside a lake,
The valley full of summertime streams, vineyards of golden grapes—
Hebrew as a satellite her golden stole fell from her shoulders,
She a cave woman resuscitated from ancient DNA—
Who crawled up from the mud and spake,
With an accent I didn’t recognize,
But I’d swear it was Ashkenazi from what I’ve read—
Blonde men the pilots,
Their women on the ground mannequin-like in their armor,
Children vomiting at their feet beneath a twin sky
Ragged Hollywood the dawn of crime and porn,
American transgender and reckless,
Take pity on the Marquis de Sade,
His troubles are over in the New World,
Her feet smelling of corn, my soul troubled soul’s vain feelings—
Brunettes and Ashkenazi blondes hanging their washing in the summer sun,
Trees in bloom and Amish sluts hiding in the hills
With outlaw poets who make them swoon,
Soon the moon will rise, in flames the sons of Jacobs in chariots like the sun,
Ashkenazi Amish girls lying in the sun naked as the green treetops,
A goddess in garter belt taking gigantic steps through the gardens and groves,
Now seeing what mother wanted us to see—



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