or whatever you is
The singe of the sun unzips the skin of your
fun and your id is a bundle of sin sitting
wondering when the blind wind will send wins
and bring underling friends who drink wine
brought on wings and fins of glass frozen fast on
fish from the past blowholes from above and
below blow love above all from undertows and
glove compartments and clubgoers’ apartments
cut apart guts chic sharp sleek butts tree bark tea
while deep dark nuts feed sick sheep in cheap
cars and thatched huts dozen dead eyes
glistening said I screamed clam up and kill me to
the sky but couldn’t stand why and wasn’t
listening this glass-bottle wine pining to be
splintering bowing to battleships cracked and
christening fat-free chips frat chicks dropkick
tides and props and prides and pills to pop and
rabbits to fry and habits to drop keys in the sleet
weak knees icicle bees breathe snowflake lice up
sleeves receive like a sieve live to believe rife for
bereavement and trite retrievals fight to forgive
the flight of the sycophant trading spite for a
drink of spit wading right to the blizzard-brink of
it wishing wailing braying praying and basically
saying mister mistress I miss you miss me so shut
up god (whatever you is) and just kiss me