Fukushima Snake City

Dead Planet LXXVIII
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Fukushima—Snake City

“Here as everywhere,
it’s a snake city.”
—Tom Maddox,
“Snake-Eye,” Mirrorshades
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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
Techno-Interface

The kid just calls it—
“Snake City” ghetto-gutter
Skanky Tokyo
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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?
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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
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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
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Caledonia—
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
Rome Stoop & kiss the ring
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“Why the fuck can’t I ever
find 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
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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
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“Fluctuating from nanosecond
to 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…
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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
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I gave him the pills—
The doctors gave me to stop
De-evolution

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
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“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
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“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…”
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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…”