ode to saturday

slow a.m. arm-glide to a bedside
that holds cherry and
her lucious moon

a pliant tomorrow, rung around my feet
i look like i got run over by a truck

idiot eye talking to blank twitches
each pulled presentation
a dear

silver loops hanging from nipples. a don't
for the eyebrows

aw.. come on now, help me nip a little opal

perhaps you are the tourette's-esque of any headboard

and suicide you, like that of two darknesses help up

yeah & even your gums are slack with that cross-fingered whisper

yeah, well your ass is coke and you have delta ears : )

point on lock

nah ... angel-marble ..

cheers.