Spice
two footed cat with a twisted smile
leftover bananas is lunch to dinner
tap-dancing in the weeds
deep sang roots in my blood's desert
difficulties born on an island offshore
ridiculous notions beep and soar
pour lotion on rabbit-flowers, nor
seaside in my ocean door
galore? what more gore can we moor?
Let’s picnic in the a-capella mire:
notorious eyes and well-waxed lips
mice that rinse their finger tips
snotty instruments that lie
like office paper, or a tie,
brainley mechanisms without ventilation
to the point which they burst into flames
covered in hall passes, ashamed
urinated in his hat!
pretentious. always fasting.
she was the lady Pralta
perhaps regurgitation
and mottled modern zibalda
everything's to wear
\six inch ideas
\six dollar minutes
but when it's too dark to hear anything, she'd sometimes whisper
you're my miracle.
we all get one.
you're mine.