everything gone
flaccid
my droopy blue
suede
strap on

little anchors
in clouds
precipitated worms
choke fly
crows
like bags of black keys
not meant to amuse
you
never know when to screw

when called upon, I act
test
fuck it with lips
and teeth
slashed
less like price,
more like tires
named for rain and snow

barefoot thru
the rose bush,
caress a raw mess
of thyme
on your
deep puncture wounds
has never been what to do