A man with a white tie and dress shirt, naked from the waist down except for black garters,
talks to the queen bee in elegant tones.
Queen bees are old women who surround themselves with fairies to form a swarm.
It is a sinister Mexican practice.
But where is the statuary?
He talks out of one side of his face.
The other is twisted by the torture of a million mirrors.
He masturbates wildly.
The queen bee continues the conversation, notices nothing.
A horde of lust-mad American women rush in,
stripping cunts from farm and dude ranch, factory, brothel, country club, penthouse and suburb,
motel and yacht and cocktail bar.
Strip off riding clothes, ski togs, evening dresses, Levi's, tea gowns,
print dresses, slacks, bathing suits and kimonos.
They scream and yipe and howl,
leap on the guests like bitch dogs in heat with rabies.
They claw at the hangboys, shrieking,
you very ***, *** me, *** me, *** me!
The guests flee screaming, dodge among the hanged boys, overturn iron lungs.