There’s no time
For this
This meaty clock
That ticks
And
Tocks
Inside the walls of
My brown kitchen
The fleshy sheep
In the oven
Baking like
Lamb cookies
On Easter Sunday
Has risen
I am stimulated
Despite the last hour
Of the night
As I groom my
Eyelashes for
A date I have
With satin and
Duck feathers
I am hard in lipstick
Rigid under nausea stars
That fights each rainbow
To its brutal
And timely
Death
I find myself
Upright
In the mirror now
Not giving
Two shits
About
This
Or
That
Anymore
I take to the bed
Like the lamb took
To the cleaver
And I bleed
Red ooze
On the paisley
Pillowcase
And
Semen stained sheets
Hard
Crusty
And yellow
(Like Popeye
After a vicious fight
With his nemesis
Bluto)
But I am asking for this
I
Want to bleed
I
Want to be cut open
I’m
Positive
While the monkey grinder
Calls it a day
And packs up
His nickels
On the street corner
He hails himself
A cab
And lets his partner
In rancid fur
Ride the
Checkered rooftop
Surfing, if you will
But for me,
There’s no time for this
While I am 87% sure
That
I would go down on it
If only the thighs were
Open like a
24 hour
Butcher shop
I turn a cold shoulder and
Let my tattered back
Face the
Drapes
In the window
As the snow falls harder
With each
Passing millisecond
I peek out
One more time
To check
The percentages
My eyes focus slowly
And I decide
In the last remaining
Second
To shut them quickly
And forget
The whole fucking thing
