who’s your daddy now?

or, she will be fine

deadbolt deadbolt chain

hunting down the steel

forget these men

their ingenuity their

nothing to do

TV parts all over the floor

cathode diode little

rubber enema pump

***

blood in his eyes

the day the screen door flew open

shitting his pants

who’s your daddy now?

***

she’s fine

she’s alright

she’s fine

shorten her lead

wrapping your hand

a flavour slick along the ribbon

slacken your belt

you bet on her last round

root of filth

earth and water

your eyes crown

a head like a gator’s

scam the room

with your body submerged

teach a younger one the economy of words

mine time for conclusory social experiments

fis{t//\\h}ing stories

unrealized in bromance

things i want to say to you

he’s said them first

men i’d like to be for you

forget them

he’s generations

yr saying my name

“when’s it gonna be ok?”

“it already is”

and i says yrs

full down, the fountain

head given

deep scull fuck

too cheap and the humming bird motel

***

this is easy for you

you guys don’t talk about anything

hard up

forward

“when’s it gonna be ok?”

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Picket fence Oedipus

But what if all of it changed suddenly And you could still feel but the feelings all had new names and moved through your body without hiding in the corners. You are sure your brittle knees and creaking elbows and snapping shoulder blades have the dust of them still trapped. Husks disintegrating over three year periods. The time to get through it might have been a curse cast by one having no concept of his power, so a hunger for that which he yielded unwittingly in his frustration over its lack. Or was it that he was clawing at the earth a foot above his head all around in a hole he deepened clawing. Or was it that he knew it could happen and didn’t want it and in arrogance over owning and knowing took off after someone else’s Fate. Picket fence Oedipus, running from and fucking his mother. Anyway, you’ve defriended him.

Hymen lapse and Lapping sea

Driven from the castle (thrown out the window), Queens become ducks and circle the moat. Beck of the child King. Bread crumbs once a day on hot days. Swelling hot crumbs on the glistening surface of a pond, too. Man has made and maiden will peddle push a paddle boat out to the middle. Just a buoy, pregnant plastic place holder until the bravest little swimmers pass the ropes kicking. The ropes scratching gently their freed ankles. Dead weed bobble head sea monstress. Death and dying. Breath and breathing. Breed swell to quell the loneliness.

The association is maddening. Yr a pretty girl. Such a pretty girl. So handsome yr brother the picture on his license looks like a cis manchild of fifteen.

He takes it boating and forgets the lesbian shore. Witches have him tethered, just in case. Forgetting is part of the ritual. He will swim back all on his own so the tether wears, seaborne. The theory goes. No need to drag. Salt to the nylon eating thread by thread. Baptist by name and still calling it it. Are we sure, sisters? Are we true? Place a scrap of fur there, on his dick. Lay it there like a scrap on one of Oppenheim’s wooden fingers. Thus robed, he will remember once the forgetting is done. Glue it to his dick. Crazy glue is good for this. Nail it to a board. The whole thing. Dick to the board. Flanagan risen. Opie sunk in.

snakemouth

sucking

snakemouth [makes] the mistakes feel good.

folded over and can hold the weight of

in a pile on their shoulder.

dough in rough hands

invisible baker.

the man above we don’t believe

in.

laughter and laugher

swelling and constant

breath hard and harder into my face.

the hole through your lips

gap stayed

boat tongue that takes

down their throat

pennies for the eyes

drunk and paying the driver

saved and the survivor

skyman gone

mother there

wing.

prayer.

mine to

take take take

smokebreak

period

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