Fukushima Snake City

Dead Planet LXXVIII

Fukushima—Snake City

“Here as everywhere,

it’s a snake city.”

—Tom Maddox,

“Snake-Eye,” Mirrorshades


Dark snake in his pants—

Coiled & radioactive

Steroids & snake eyes

The snake likes it there—

Down between his lanky legs

Wired to reptile brain

Thanks to TEMPCO Inc—

Exo-human mutant snake


The kid just calls it—

“Snake City” ghetto-gutter

Skanky Tokyo


Frankenstein penis—

Retro-engineered with

An organ transplant

But that wasn’t all—

They’d stem-celled it nice & neat

Anaconda meat

Grew him in a vat—

Growing slowly but surely

Ultimate hustler

The operation—

Team of transplant surgeons

A brand new species?


Snake-Trix© gigolo—

They'd been generous you know

A new kind of thug

They called him “Snake Kid”—

He had big slits for snake eyes

They gave him a forked-tongue

Yakuza paid lots—

A new breed of assassins

Their cobra-cock lips

A nice piece of trade—

Had to keep him in a cage

His fangs pearly white


Paid extra for him—

I was into S & M

His easy trigger

I got him a job—

Jiffy-Lube kid in the Pit

Thick & oily sex

A dark triangle—

Tight kinky albino pubes

Like his whore mother

His greasy armpits—

After work taking shower

Me down on my knees



Martian Snake City Home

Clone metropolis

Mutant Martians—

Calm, cool android existence

Tres expensive tho

Terra-Roma time—

Many Vatican tourists

Bernini’s columns

That’s where it started—

Where else but decadent
Stoop & kiss the ring

“Why the fuck
can’t I ever
a guy with a really
big cock?”
—Ernst Hogan,
“The Frankenstein Penis,”

Semiotext(e) SF

Krakatoa Bar—

Chrome & black leatherette chairs

Leather pants, no shirt

His snake eyes were slits—

He was the usual Thug

Coiled & dangerous

“Tell me about it”—

He was one of those sullen

Silent hustler types

He had killer lips—

Thin, cruel, pouty Nexus klone

Love at first sight not


He told me about—

Not changing his shorts for weeks

Fruit of the Loom rots

He robbed chicken coops—

Sucked the yolks from all the eggs

I didn’t trust him

He showed me his card—

SexTrix Inc. guaranteed hot

His fingers sizzled

He told me he was—

Fresh outta the Exo-Tubes

Baby Powder Blue


“Fluctuating from
nanosecond…infinite regress
of awareness”
—Ernst Hogan,
“The Frankenstein Penis,”

Semiotext(e) SF

Something was left out—

The kid was changing into

Something sinister

No subject or verb—

Something subtextual-deep

He was devolving

Something subversive—

Serpentine & cobra-like

Genetic throwback

The intimacy—

I hungered for left him cold

His look of death…


I could see changes—

It was taking over him

Snake consciousness

The kid was getting—

Selfish with himself at night

Sucking himself off

The snake made him do—

Self-fellatio “69”

What a fucking waste

I had to give up—

Getting his lips on himself

Was his obsession


I gave him the pills—

The doctors gave me to stop


They caused nausea—

But he just kept abusing

Himself constantly

Addicted to it—

He was hooked on cheap junk-sex

It was just awful

The Snake-Trix© doctors—

Suggested the last resort:

Dick amputation


“You want it simple”—

The mutant mob smirked at me

“You perves all alike!”

“Have you tried prayer, son?”—

Said the local Voodoo priest

Had hots for Zombies…

“Snake transplants don’t last”—

My landlady chastised me

“You’re such a sucker…”

“Trade him in, my friend”—

Said the local bartender

Without sympathy


“No thanks,” I said—

“I wanna be his last squeeze

His last juicy squirt”

I craved the taste, smell—

The way his reptilian

Young manhood hissed

“I’m into Pin-heads—

The way he goes spaz in bed

Masturbation’s out”

“Somebody’s gotta—

Get it, might as well be me!!!

My Cobra Bad Boy…”


And so the Snake Kid—

Kept degenerating down

To primal prick…

He may be screwed up—

But when his snake takes over

He’s all business…

Mutant love don’t last—

Fukushima is fickle

He lasted a year

Snake-Trix© offered me—

A new Tokyo model

But I just sobbed “No…”

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