/ / /
--The mirror makes faces at me, one of them
Door length leaning left-like just enough to be
Fixed in the present tense, of a me some years
Back before all this rx detritus gathering in
Crouched between two row houses listening
To their sick heaves and flesh slapping wide
Flesh, my penis I rub feels different out side
Maybe it’s the real air, or was it the common
Sense of this, fucking a thing good in itself
Things have use value as long as they don’t exist
As long as long as it’s private how a child, I was
Rehearsing Rilke’s Seven Phallic Poems I Was
Not thinking of trees, the folds and veins
And the melanin spots I still why when alone
Connect them with a felt pen like dots with
Coded mystery, as more arrive each year
The shape changes never says something
I don’t know, now I cum without warning
/ / /
Aspartame or black mold let’s trace causes
Rumors of traincars moved us from gulags
I want to lullaby what adulterates you
How do you vaccinate a small h his-
Story when from our ember chamber
The timbre of my want song alibies?
Translocamotive of some velocity
Your arm's under heavy scrutiny let's
Abdicate they're reality show hosts
---lullaby as amplitude
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