blocking the art in my belly
you’re an alarm clock or a time bomb, whichever
you gotta walk faster
these days are filled with drab pellets of water
falling on the breasts of the nudist partiers next door
"fuck ‘em", you say, while beating the shit
out of a cop killer in a magazine editorial
lemme hold your hand with my teeth
for five minutes, please because
this is the nineties and i am in a frenzy
with my finger in my pussy and my tongue on the floor
all the girls wish they were next to you
in black silk panties torn up the side
and sometimes they wear the plastic barrettes of children
they’re gonna get married in
with green trim underneath their tits
everything is in a bottle sitting atop this dresser
bathed in chamomile oil, murky fetuses stuck to the bottom
humanity sealed in an old beer
underwear strewn on the floor, chocolate smeared on your lips and cheeks
you say, "you gotta have clit to last till the end, but you gotta give up before."