In the language of handkerchiefs // there’s really nothing // I don’t want
I’m glad to be paid in gold // when the devil beats his // you know what

if you think it’s indecent // for a body to fan open iridescent // gird your gaze
because honey I’m throwing up // my kerchief like a flare-gun shot // watch me

unskirt a frosted muffin // top me with sprinkles // I’m flashing red-yellow-green-go
you’re the stallion and I’m the mare // smear my queer into the mirror // now you

are the mare and I am // the stale smell in the restroom stall // and you’re an all-
you-can-eat buffet // let me say your eyes are the most beautiful // urinal cake blue

blew as in the past tense of blow // blow as in coke even though you // suck it up
buttercup and butterscotch // a man named Scott wants his Scotch // filthy gorgeous

or maybe that’s a martini // a man named Martin a man named // who knows what
who knows what it means to pluck roses // from my chest // using just his teeth

and sometimes yes blood // which is thicker than water // I know something thicker
it’s called incest // when a nephew makes his uncle say uncle // say pee say cock

[Read more]

 

Support fine writing:
SUBSCRIBE to NER!