little fat girls like my poetry
and broken housewives with weekly
prescriptions, also fuckups
playing catch near cliff edges and there’s a couple
of drunks (in a fit of parentheses and those convulsive
morning
gut rot stomach cramps- kids raised by Buk-
that understand)…but to me…it’s no dice, it’s
old bread, it’s holding your dick against the liquid force of a whirlpool jet like
machine made current’s a
good girlfriend with all the right moves, squinted eyes,
‘Some asshole’s contaminated the damned Jacuzzi water!’, while I towel off,
dreaming
about the next line
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