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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