When I pooped Detroit, I was only kidding.
The quagmires of capital have soaked the galoshes
Of future gardeners (rat poison!), I mean goddesses
Splattered with snatch-burning honey. AOI
The furnaces in your eyes remind you of yourself—
How saintly—before you were born, raging in vitro
Like violent oyster sewage as delicious
As turnips in a musical. Ovarian meat-grinder!
I won’t harvest you, fat morass, without a note
From your physician. Please inspect the timbers
Of all strings and woodwinds prior to fellatio.
Must you refer to me as “my cabbage”?
Every third line I vomit in the solarium.
These marble stairs warbling since 1066 sag
Like the tits of an old dog, thousands of them
Arranged in a cloistered spiral ascending
To a locus amoeba, all fish in the trees, of course,
Because it’s spring and I’m in love with a shoulder blade.
Thibaut, send one down to the princess of hell.
I did some work there but the fornicators kicked me out.