from Junk
The covers up to our shoulders we lay in the couchbed of our
preconceptions, separating I steady walk back to the land where
I dunno you Took you long fuckin enough Now I’m stupid and
sugar-free and frothing The only thing harder than writing is
quitting candy And the only thing harder than quitting candy is
walking all day and buttering into bed in my body Now that I’m
fully inhabiting my cement maybe I’m closer to the sacral joy of
thinking into my ribcage? Convention says a book shd be this
long but I’m only interested in writing as long as you want to
read in one sitting My aura is a strawberry shortcake dessert
bar and the popular American corn snack Funyuns My safe
word is Go to hell Katy Perry pronounced “Catty” I’m writing a
sitcom about butts and counting called Number Two The tag-
line is “turn the other cheek” Most times I’m a maniac, other
times losing an arm wrestling match Sitting for longer and
longer but paying less and less attention, evolutionarily Is a load
easier to swallow with a “we” We’ve known for centuries that
time is a bossy bird curdler Protrude from the green and calling
it “bud” Sometimes you need to read something more than once
My joint is Mary Jane The theme is harmony of a gradient Let’s
hold hands and walk to the water taxi in matching tank tops but
we call the tank tops “wedges” and the wedges are a chipwich
and our cherry Cokes are a summer afternoon where we can’t
do anything but lean into the grass at that carousel park in
Dumbo with the lap of the river and the dollhouse of lower
Manhattan face-fucking us while we neck and, later, face-fuck
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