our pores
have opened
too soon
the spam
of an open
blouse
we sit
in Nero
after the meat
feast
skimmed
breasts
in a soy cup
you taste
like Christmas
lines are x-ings
this is not
a singing
postcard
the peasants
have sold
out
beep! beep! beep!
there is fur
on yr toilet
seat!
My heart is
shuffled it
is intelligent it
is a lot
like me
poetry is cheap
I hunger &
hunger
and at the
end
of my hungering
I hunger
some more