some dark wood of terror/ my tongue inside your bitter hole ravenous and wasted beyond perilous attrition/ no one had been left alive/ we could roar the bike past all the parked cars lined up at the side of the road with their little radios and their little dancing on car hoods on the way to woodstock/ she-wolves and the long hair boys lifting their babies up, up the rain took pity on no one/ lucy in the sky with as each bemoans the second set of souls/  it was the summer of journeys and arduous passage your shit hole tender, sweet, sunken in the already lost through this great burning has turned the music into food, and you came so promptly like i told you to/ the starless hair, a confusion of spilling and undone, the turbulent beaches of acheron, in your despair of ruinous and rustling ground, your dead cavern to that sunless tide/ i ate you out at woodstock while charon rages on the stage/ you still leave me blind and tortured/ this place where desire is the father of his children/ your cock a hemisphere of dark ascribes the words to chance, my eternal rants, it coils around your sweaty balls, a dragon wracked by the hissing and the pissing not of release, but of its corrupted whips from side to side, your meat borne by an earth that stains one long, thick murmur to the rooms we left for this far more hungry cur who like woodstock itself has been thrown a bone/