see I’m so good for going to bed and
only kissing one prince tonight and
having me a grand old timey time with
all of em feeling in everything and
fishnets not waltzing when I walk
but bouncing maybe
certainly something stumbling
down the stairs into wild
bar bathroom yonder graffiti spells
peacock wrong and every true
soul is a truthful soul and
u r a slut
then again up the stair sinking
quadricep curve between black pinhole
fishnets black long lash thick wondering back
how long long things lasting
ramblingstonedrunken and on of my song that’s for damn
sure sometimes little miss quoting Walt
Whiteman and Elizabeth Bare it Browning and cumming
curling cruder tongue gentler
at my friends over bar crowded heads
split wet funny fingers going far as
an empty mouth can I guess if we’re talkin crazy
jane to the bishop can I guess mine
mind in the crowd in the can my mind
my speakeasy peach that don’t give a sheet
slinging rude ridden bed words
in its own time and its home
and it’s sweet and it’s dawn
and it’s mine
This article appears in October 2014.
