The Cutting Edge of Culture

Eyes sunken dried hopes
A bent back jutting bones
A dirtbag by the wayside
whom only the platforms
haven't disowned.

What shall he do about
the desires that croak
within those ribbed cage,
like a thousand frogs on a
rainy night, those ugly noises
wanting to mate, on seeing our
latest flicks' blown-up lust?
Rape?