With the crack of a whip
I succumb
Like an apple filled with feathers
One letter away from shifty eyes
Dig my bones
with a whittled stick of jade
Daddy has a brand new box
His empty stomach selling cards
set to simmer
Flame on, sweet violet
burst like a piņata
Glowing lacerations
tiny silver rings
That nonsense is my castle
Boiling fetus in holy water
Mother may I?
The this of the that has gone awry
Bow down to the mountain
made of Cheshire cat
Watch the raisin
rise and fade
just as the sea will
ebb and recur
with foam on her lips
and salt in her veins
Wonder what bodies lay beneath her skin
in blue-black depths
Like a cousin to the kith
in his kingdom of kin
Like an ancient missing chromosome
Tickle him dead
He can dream in a stream
babbling bubbles
with hockey puck strings
All those sick sons of bitches
Never trust a strait man
He's not an artist but
he plays one on TV
and with the luck of the drunk,
ill swim in his scent
