Bar hair and Atari hands in tow, I come to you to gurgle,
Foment, curtsy, and blow. Never my love has so difference
Been sexy. Never my bowery blue movie frau, has it hurt
Quite so brightly. Saying it won’t sever it. Seven times
The rod is cast, seven times it comes back bloody. Seven
Maids and mermen barking up the tree of wine and ash.
Far alone searching. Backspace. Omit. Can you trace the fabulary
Back to its source. Can you make a riverboat from keyboard
Shavings and water-based lubricant. Can your bed of seven
Histories sear hot enough to remind my belly of war, to impress
Upon your golden calves the etching of my name rendered
In syllables too hot and too embarrassing to read aloud? If
And if it can, your fight is mine. Place your crotch against
My empty wall. Rub away the fogged window. Lurch. Howl.

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