My Precious Sweetmeat, I have Cornered The Slavish Bone at the Top of the Stairs
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A scribbling, on the Back
of the Hand
paved a Waking
& countered the Face
in a Fit
of sad Rage: I’m
gruesome
a two-some
in you Sum:
a-blush & about
to Flush
this City, is building
upon
the tongue-shitters
a deciduous complexity
& all this Shame
in my Arms
arc
a Signal to rest
the Body
here in the Passage
of the Phrase
“I want your
wood
in my
Mouth”
permanently, storming
across
that Growth in your Leg
begs
“Bones & Shoes
Bones & Shoes”
means nothing
yet I admit
to Enter
where here lays
my Poor
bones with
You
