The sight of him tasted like her
Bottom lip until hot iron
Coursed down her throat and burnt
A hole in her starving stomach
If you look for yourself
You’ll just find everyone’s .02,
Which won’t buy much
Beyond sweets a hundred years ago.
Sticky mouth melting stomach burn
Eventually shit shit shit
Rotted out teeth.
Difficult to speak through gums,
Now even those are .25
You’re better off with cocaine –
Your nasal cavity already exists.
Won’t need to smell anyway,
Not like you gotta publicly grinchew.
I want Bukowski’s balls,
Not in a jar,
That wouldn’t castrate him.
I want the hunched stench of truth
Forcing my fingers to strangle neck
Until hoppy life fills hollow
As the day it was born.
I’ve never seen Hank’s balls,
But I think they would’ve hung
Low like the tips of a frown until they were balls
Carrying him under all of that smelly, hunching weight.
Freezing warm words
Against a wall, Make love to woman
Because you are a man.
I feel gritty and real, and not alone and I am inspired.