Friday, October 10, 2014


You with yourself
fingering the worse that makes it better
The prostitute you gave your virginity to
Atheist at the church of you
lurking inside your fragile temple
You inhale your delicious cancer

Taking a stab at yourself
 just so you can lick the wounds
The oppressor that undresses you
The lesser and the mess of you
The deluge that starves you
pulls my stomach out of my chest

Repulsed to be a snake
who must shed its skin
stillness itches
You must slide out from underneath it
though it horrifies you,
your diamonds will glisten

Would that I could
I would take you home
where the rhythm commands dancing

A conversation
where grammar orders truth
and our tongues could untie the knots in our stomachs
I would have with you
But some melodies have no lyrics

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