Vande and my pupils like black machines, because I'm cynical, ebony flash of an oil slick
I'm sliding
the lights hit so good and you
know that the game is a
Hot hot hand on dull spine
Heart on strings in a plastic cartoon, it is
cold sweats and fever and
I am not here
I am out there in the
magnetic pools, arms limp and
Head on wire,
Platform three hundred miracle, rip you. I want to my
Legs are all bruised and I don't know why it makes you come
gets you harder than before
Every next one's gonna
Hurt like the last and now
This is the part in the sex where I laugh
and put my teeth in you, its okay to play make-believe with sticks and high heels, this
modern life is intravenous, how many wolves are in my bed
and which one is the hungriest, brown or blue
my twig legs and paper wrists and the
way that
the tendons push sinewy snake-like coil outlines to the tops of my hands while I'm
getting off
drinking velvet from creases left out of the
fold
tastes like smack
I'm just kidding I turned it around, I saw the
pretty gay boys with glitter and sweat on their cheekbones, felt your breath, ran up the stairs
They were draped in monochromatic fabrics but the colored strobes
raining down from the place past the lid on their
fish bowl
put a pink static sunset on the
cold sea of slate shoulders
easy like a coma red sucker or the negative space I take up when I'm spun
doing it for love in the
dark, cats in the alley and
crooks in the cradle
ending up in someone else's morning
dressed in satin
you can also be jealous of what scares you so I don't mind
doing it for you