Untitled

[letters-and-coffee]

Poem 2

I'm niche and I get it.

I'm a fawn in wolf's land--

Sylvia Plath, head inside the oven;

Jesus Christ on the crucifix, praised.

Naked women and clear heels on the dirty floor

While hairy daddies are cleaning up the vomit.

Catch a glimpse of us through the window,

the window maimed and disheartened.

We catch sight of the Cliffside,

where we saw them go home.

Where did they go?

I don't remember.

[letters-and-coffee]

Poem 1

My body is marked by grotesquerie;

my morality is dionysian.

A whore sucking dick in the alley

between the pub and white buildings,

and my feigned talk is sober.

[letters-and-coffee]

i've been closer to death than having love resting soundly on my palms and sunshine drowned with kisses on my forehead.