Strange and twisted isn’t it,
My black and shriveled witch’s tit?
It’s like a wineskin sans the wine,
A brittle, morbid eglantine.
It’s mummy’s flesh but not as old,
Yet just as dry and twice as cold.
You cannot take your eyes from it–
So come and try my witch’s tit.

— Pozo Estancado

You won’t see these in Chinatown,
Unless a midget slaps them down:
A strident snap, a tiny flash–
All over but the stain and splash.

These remind me of the snappers you can buy in Chinatown. Those are the annoying little bits of gunpowder and rocks twisted up in paper that go snap when you throw them against something.

— Pozo Estancado

Like sponges on a coral shoal
Who bob and sway with ocean’s roll,
These willies live to spend their glands
When petted by your able hands.

— Pozo Estancado