Two generations
removed from
the Good

But Good
is not the point
of poetry

I throw
the *****
like a tantrum

He say my
name like
a mantra

Whose fan do you service
so regularly and generously?

Which senpai do you hope
and need to notice you?

Whose moral maiden’s ****
are called to duty?

Taken with what
exactly? There’s no
hunger left in the greedy

That same old thing always
had weak knees for begging and
asks with arms extended: May
I have some more please?

The sound of stark reality
sounds like there’s not much left
in the *** but dried bits.

We all wear clothes,
and lick our lips
against the cold.

As a child things close
with a ziplock zip, and grass
made you a woodland nymph.

A sentiment arises on the first
day of school—and you say: never
let me go or let me go at once—

With a stubborn tug
in the passionate bones
long gone by lunch

I couldn't help it
if you came the same
as you did before

And your weakness
is the only thing
that keeps you talking

Yea, yea, yea
Yadda, yadda, yadda
Realize the same thing

Who's been faking
it the whole time?

Are you done
making waves in
my body yet?

It doesn't like
to be upset. My
heart can't take it--
in the literal sense.

It's like why I can't really
listen to heavy metal music
even though I can listen to pretty
much anything else. There's something
about the vibrations that make my heart hurt,

and it's the same with you.

Two vibratory frequencies
complement and intersect
and turn jarring like:

a tendency to say mean things or
hit me—like a school boy crush—and
sniff me on occasion while I rub
my face on yours like a cat

Because I was one in a past life
and you were a dog

Settle down, now
no need to steer a course
already laid out

Hush, nevermind: drink
white hot light wine. Only
say yes— if you’d like to
you can walk away

if you’d rather not
have nothing