The Automaton Breaks Her Hibernation

YOUR MOLASSES ONE
DOLLAR STORE cookie dough love
is dull, dull, dull, dull

give me my baby
blanket immaturity
any joy filled day!

my lady told me
about some boy who would bike
for that damn pussy

outside i might like
things to seem tea and crumpets
but girls want to FUCK

Thanks Gertrude

They say, so they say, the proverbial they, that
i am bored and weary because im boring and wearying
and girls like me, with a figure like me, have a tendency to figure what they tell me makes sense
because they seems so much more than me, its even a longer word
[theres power, a power it seems, in syllables and consecutive stringing of symbols]

but this time, of all times, after so much time, i really think it's you, firefly
it's your shimmer that's duller than
first grade costume glitter
because playgrounds and lollipops and freckles gleam
until you drop that sticky sweetness in the boogery sand.

and i got, what i got feels like im being besot, what i have got
is an appetite like my boss' down on that waterfront
he eats real mean and hardly breathes a breath of clean and fights mean,
too
and that cook im in love with, whos in love with his kid, that kid of a cook i want to make love with
makes my boss a steak as big as my face and he'll wash it down with cazadores and we've got a fight, a real mean fight

so i spend my day waiting on him, waiting on my feet, waiting is quite a feat
and i guess after all that pacing around for you seems like too much too too much much
i need you to bring me to my knees, instead, in works stead, in schools stead, in times stead, in my appetites stead, in my sad's stead, instead of instead.

Let's Go Travelling

what you have on your shoulders
what they call chicken skin
what makes you hide within
those clothes
that could hide rocks, sticks, boulders

that sandpaper on your chin
that hides cherub rosy blossom cheeks
that betrays your gentle roughness for weeks
those whispering whiskers
that could scrub away all the dirty places ive been

all these bumps
are the most delicious pinpoints on this most detailed roadmap
for my adventures around your body!

i love you loud like
the roar of early morning
a hush of prayer

(like worship knew once
long before pews clattered with
knees and treatises)

so busy being
seamlessly endlessly still
kissing all dew drops

Amongst Your Things

It's an Oedipal
kind of justice when i kiss
him on your pillow

and your swift-footed
temper is such that seeing
us now, you'd blind him

or you, or me. see
that's the thing about your sword:
it could land in my

eye or your sad arm.
the rusty miniature
of which i found in

your bags during one
of the days you said you would
go away and get get cured.

no one asks the gods
to drive oedipus to blind
wrath and blank eyes but

the finality,
sweet finality of it,
we will not deny