Rot Apple

   8, 10, say, a dozen skinhead Cooper architecture students
   hard-heeled up Park Avenue around 3 AM, wheeled arrayed-
   left at 430, and metronomically rained cobblestones at the
   Mercedes showroom, shattering glass coats, savaging alpaca-
   hide upholstery, hacking computered-metal secrets,
   desecrating the Frank Lloyd Wright landmark-castled
   machinen-monster-wagens.

   Silent alarms blitzed the precinct panel board, dot, dit,
   dat, winking eye-blink kreig-chaos at the snoring soundly
   sleeping clancy on duty protecting persons and property for
   annual salary one-quarter the cost of one racy Autobahn
   schwein-wurst getting butchered on Park by baying, barking,
   yodeling lederhosened schweinhunds soused on Heinekin and
   Schlitz and Pabst and Budweiser and Nietzsche and Gehry and
   Eisenman and Leibskin.

   Kienholz! motherfucker, the righteous skinne damen and
   herren berated the ruined undistinguished FLLW-work grossly
   redesigned by a hauty pink-triangle for Mercedes aiming to
   appeal to the extra-virgin-manly crowd grown rich on haute
   fashion and driving slaves thereto by slave-labored duds.

   Drive on, Klein, drive on Lauren, drive on deep into the
   loins of ditsy crepe-naped haupt landlords and Lenora
   Helmsleys, the ratskeller dozen chanted, twelve butts
   mooning Mercedes and the fast-passing-lane fancy of
   squeezed-nut designers of luxury and waste.

   Design deed done, the blackleather gang jogged back
   downtown to Hejduk's Pigeon Cooper, recommitted to all-week
   gross-body charrette, again and yet fucking again designing
   the redesign of Potzdamer Platzen, Berlin, extra-neo-classic
   Mercedes-modeling runway of master-race skinhead Philip
   Johnson, archnemesis emulator of Porkpied Autocrat Frank LL
   American-apple-pie Big Apple denouncer.