Sleep pressed instrumentally against 
My pillow’s slighted bladder 
In its latency my incontinence
Rebounds 

Deep down I wish I’d said a final farewell
To the topography of scabs 
On his pockmarked 
Couch

Bigotedly, I held the same view,
Pacing a tank domestic and half-full
As the airbag now sprung from the hemisphere of my lungs,
Stone-hard and hysteric in the cradle of your palms.

There is romance found in ingratiation, in these chaste doilies, suffering implicitly beneath the burden of ***** bowls. Here’s one, illuminated as a pinball machine when you rattle that dung-brown stain about its shrivelled pupil. Above it, a cataract of steam squirms about in unalarming routine.

So many nights I adulterated merely for lack of better days were given credence by the gimpy sun, turned away with its blouse undone, and ****** back to the chalkboard. Somewhere along the past few days I must have become bedridden, indentured to prickly sponge baths by that ****** tongue.

How I’d like to stay sedated now. Another day of inoculation becomes an alibi for the adhesion of this numbness inducted to the soft-boiled meat of my temples, combing out my shoulder blades, running down my legs...

Stupidly, I almost feel a sense of superiority in not learning any faces among the indiscrete convoys of whitish heads popping in now and then, with the subordinate arousal of stiff knuckles, or other things compressed inward by their own come-hither fervor.

“You talk too much, you worry me to death…”

Before her, I was
South-facing as a loose tooth plucked from sore gums.

There is a affinity shared with her
In this gloomy hair, like graphite
Fingerprints anointed on my featureless cranium; and how

Before me, she was
Broken as the noon's fever. Her boyish hips fanning out,
Abdicating space for my anemone palms
To measure their wingspan.

Jellylike expectancy
Suspends us in a flood of adrenaline.

It’s time to go when the miasma of guilt hanging in the corner
Stinks of apologies like a bed-wetting toddler.
Here’s an excuse, with the urgency of that pink slip
Inside your blind, seeking mouth,

Deluged with liquor to put out
The horrid taste of my own. I always overstayed my welcome before,
Polishing my picket fence teeth with the grease on your shoe;
Talking of future pets and bigger yards
Of weeds hiked up the knee like a chevron skirt
To warm the stake driven through my core.

Precocious baby, tempered to a china-blue hue, you
Had not been ripe as a morning glory
Before riots mongered in the plasma of your shapeless head.

Haunting as an omen, you
Had drank from the cord of my cold-blooded artery.
Turned my insides out like a shimmering dime bag
As we fell to the earth.

Bruises on the bulbs of his hairy lymph nodes,
Lucid and bothersome as soiled clothes –
What could a Spanish fly have to share
With that grovelling man over there?
Both are shaken and stirred tonight,
Smouldering in narcotic amber light.

Order, order; his pulp reflection wants
****** thrown at his better half –
Drain the abscess, help it depress
In a savoury bubble bath.

An acned pixie nicks kitty-licks
From her 6-inch flute of wine,
Amidst drags of palo santo
For the sober mind.

Shivering like a slinky, both bygone toys.
Walking down stairs,
Alone or in pairs,
Tons of fun for girls and boys.

Everyone’s a caricature rendered queerly
To anyone under the influence; clearly,
I could be a peddler of all things here –
Waiting on my ultimate compassion, hear:

W.Y.B.M.A.D.I.I.T.Y?