disregard my gay little outfit 

and accept this fondue as a peace offering.

​

your grimacing, shamanic chortles feathered across infamous episodes.

i've got to live this fairytale.

​

on stage my band was playing. i emerged from a bio-mech coffin buried under hundreds of copies of Reflections of Evil on burnt dvds.

autographing buttcheeks.

bedpost notches like graph paper.

​

splintered my heel slipping on beaver puke.

fear me if you dare. your blush ore remains aerosolized.

 

a miniature Dracul-ish clinic goes tits up, sated.

the blond-terage skedaddles to the bronze-wrestling. tan and lacerated and banjaxed.

​

riling up the sex goofster in his jalopy with uncommon precedence. rips off his wifebeater in the parking lot. i check my reflection and that shit looks so fake.

​

a couple a slag piles may be eligible for compensation; i laced their feedbags with blue blazes. ain’t that a bitch?

​

mush doggies, mush to my inbox!

dingbat underlings,

fuddy duddies,

goldbrickers,

narcs, probably. i will pull your fucking card.

i'll have you camped at my feet,

gazing coyly up at latest boyfriend.

​

when i am mad at you where am i not?

i am the top candle damper.

i text the empty void,

but he’s already got a boyfriend. 

one in whom he cloaks his inky goulash justly.

​

anchor-less, yet fixed in bondage.

crouched and fascinated.

caged and confused.

​

nuke the hicks with either no sideburns

or extensive sideburns.

 

i want you farther than the root of the root of myself to my public confessions.

but you’re closer than my inclination for solus.

​

suffering is pain for a worthy purpose.

cancelling all bouncing of knees,

passionate impacts, and near death experiences.