the dead parts of me

June 6, 2014 § 1 Comment


onion grass my son pukes in the sink


the moon who cares where it is


your feet they’re nicer than mine


bottle caps rattle among the spoons


the crow says something for the crows


asphalt heat and foreign policy


the dead parts of me pester the rest


stale crackers easy to put them back


your twat I never call it that


the cat’s meow what’s that really about


the penny not as old as it looks


the extra napkin always gets tossed


rain check nothing to do with the rain


your fingerprint a consistent prostitute


the place on you I know you can’t touch


box tops they usually tear anyways


nails one of them in my foot


sassafras people still actually say that


your panties entwined with my odd socks


toothpaste not sure what I’m supposed to think


all the knives clean I hit the lights





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