from The Desire Spectrum is Dead to me Now
What bone have you been sucking on?
I’m wearing a bonnet, with holes
cut out for my holler husks. A pinafore
over my ragged gut.
I go to the dancehall and already
the weep boy is at the podium
The microphone sizzles.
The audience wants to know
how he gets into such tight pants.
They measure him with a tube of lubricant
and a tether; river stones carved
to such likeness, they become actual bear flesh.
He has brought a date on microfiche.
On DVD. He has brought a date
via text message. The message says
fU lil’ 1s. It says gimme back my
$$$. Lit, it also sparks, and fails.
I’d lone it. I’d rather
gristle on my lonesome.