PUTTING *HIM THROUGH THE WRINGER OF MY LOVE PT 2 (OS DE ECHO, DEY—[?]OH MY ECHO IS THIS WAY)

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PUTTING *HIM THROUGH THE WRINGER OF MY LOVE PT 2 (OS DE ECHO, DEY—[?]OH MY ECHO IS THIS WAY)

ALBA—[!]

You live your Days, attempting to lick-out
of your own the flesh this morning, however,

is the stuff of another’s Demise delights, which
is Love, insofar as it moves You

are gone, breathing

& moaning the fact: that others live, others thrive
that demands your drive to distraction in

an atmosphere of Terror in which you once Thought
“I hear a hollow thump” was only your Birth

& the Wolves outside your Window sniffed & lapped
at your flesh, were really just Dogs, just little

mutts delighting in the promise of your Flesh, which
would become a Meal, which would become a Home

in which to warm them weary Bones are truly the most
wretched Form of your Humor, is so wildly offensive

& thus perfect, I can only surmise: You cannot, no matter
in Life, or verse, exist: I think I love you & this bitch

be real gone, as you finally awaken in your Clothing again
is wet & smells like shit you are a fucked-up Beauty

better served in the baking tray of my voluptuous
belly is a reference that won’t take You

anywhere but to the resentment of each day’s race
towards whatever nonchalant grudge nudges You

into my smooth Voice becomes a bandage, becomes
an adhesive whose Beauty is found in the delightful

colors of the shitstained sheets of my compassion
is a sincerity in which I shall snuggle you away

in the corner of my Accusations are the serious
sorrows of my dirtydirty Heart & it’s filthy

conductor filths upon my Domination will one day
die, will one day twitch within the unease of a Fool

crippling upon: Oh deardear God, help me Fall into
your Gone


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DORKMASTER

This, is going to be my Slaughter
sorely, runs, quietly, in the

background I’m wrestling
love: mimics my vulgar

joy: charred the Events
determine our devastated

worth: that blast of Air
between your Legs, shifting

open, turning the Form of this
memory into something

cut on the teeth of Desire is
a deathly odor fingerfucked

my damnation into Widowhood
which scares upon the tracings, of your

fingers, all over my Face, become scarce
in the clearing of this Field

dropping us in the middle of this Heart
became the means to eat ourselves

out of our drying bones, cracked
in Death’s pass:

too bad our mind’s won’t last
past last week’s flesh began

to reek, my lass

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MY PUSSY

Needs a husband, like something
bad, seriously, at night

pussy pivots, towards time
turning, to trample, all over

my curling lips
are fucking

large & excite against
the chest

deploys my aching Heart
is the cause

of my Bloat, oppressively demands,
that I forget about

my other Husband sang
such sadsad songs fucking

pussy.

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LITTLE KNOWN FACT ABOUT MY COCK

I’m Nüüüüüüüüüüüüüüde & sitting inside
your Body hiding

inside

a barnyard
animal

aaaaaactually

it’s a Rooster

& I’m going
to train him

to be my
fucking

cockmaster

I will throw him
an extravagant Party

although

you will not be Invited
to the celebration

inside

your Body will be
in Mexico, after

this cockmaster
becomes

the cockfighting
champion

of all
cocks

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GOOD MORNING, MY LITTLE PORKCHOP

I will offer you up, to reach the Bottom
of my Fall, away from the Heart’s

dumdum suddenly realizes these turnings,
twist, & reveal my expository mystery

is an Explosion, broken, as the result
of how I became, someone else

is a form of generating a Body heats
these lips face—to—

face me, to see how close I am
to myself, happy

& still here, with my Eyes filled
with Tears