Bathroom
In white bathrooms warbling birds call inch by inch sound like moaning tin trapezes.
I was watching bodies sing for sleep in the nest oiled with sweat congealed
They were in some woven landscape in a loft of uncertain dreaming plants.
I creamed the leather vegetation and the fox that bit at me was dumbfounded instead of hostile.
No heart was slick clay and bursting though the chest like mine,
No heart was crippled by the wind around it’s swell-beating squish,
No heart was blue and black and white inside.
The chalk mixed like puss or syrup and upside down in layers laid.
Checking all the daily mail I found no scent close to yours,
No crisp, fiesty words like soft heat shrivel and drowning leaves;
Overdone as the meat.
A clumsy milk plasters my skin from inside leaking, and when the door opens
I wince
So unprepared for people to come in.
They slap-stick-me to the wall and breathe heavily with exhausted arousal at the thought of
Seeing me so woolen and liquefied a fuzzy, lifting underbelly, mocking me and disgusting you with a fever-like desire.
I leaned there welded in texture and foam. So sculpt me and my naked will, whistling white and ghostly. Gesturing from the
Paper pasted to me.
A mound calling to the night sky whispering clockwise.
Lisping loudly at the men out there who tease the stars
And Lust after the dregs of disposal in a posture so pathetic that they suck on oak bark, to cease from
Lurching with their arms between their legs, and their legs between their elbows.
She teases them and I crust off this wall, as white and brittle, biting at the air.
My words are bending and buttocks-like in a brine of distaste.
Lost by choice in the mask and the the pool of jelly wheeling my body, breaking space and bouncing in
The bandit’s belly here and back amnd forth again.
I was watching bodies sing for sleep in the nest oiled with sweat congealed
They were in some woven landscape in a loft of uncertain dreaming plants.
I creamed the leather vegetation and the fox that bit at me was dumbfounded instead of hostile.
No heart was slick clay and bursting though the chest like mine,
No heart was crippled by the wind around it’s swell-beating squish,
No heart was blue and black and white inside.
The chalk mixed like puss or syrup and upside down in layers laid.
Checking all the daily mail I found no scent close to yours,
No crisp, fiesty words like soft heat shrivel and drowning leaves;
Overdone as the meat.
A clumsy milk plasters my skin from inside leaking, and when the door opens
I wince
So unprepared for people to come in.
They slap-stick-me to the wall and breathe heavily with exhausted arousal at the thought of
Seeing me so woolen and liquefied a fuzzy, lifting underbelly, mocking me and disgusting you with a fever-like desire.
I leaned there welded in texture and foam. So sculpt me and my naked will, whistling white and ghostly. Gesturing from the
Paper pasted to me.
A mound calling to the night sky whispering clockwise.
Lisping loudly at the men out there who tease the stars
And Lust after the dregs of disposal in a posture so pathetic that they suck on oak bark, to cease from
Lurching with their arms between their legs, and their legs between their elbows.
She teases them and I crust off this wall, as white and brittle, biting at the air.
My words are bending and buttocks-like in a brine of distaste.
Lost by choice in the mask and the the pool of jelly wheeling my body, breaking space and bouncing in
The bandit’s belly here and back amnd forth again.