So girls don't want you. What am I,
your dog? Your looking glass? I know:
your robot psychotherapist.
It makes me hate you. I could shove
your back against those crates and bite
your lips until you begged for more.
I can slant-rhyme “hate” with “want”.
your dog? Your looking glass? I know:
your robot psychotherapist.
It makes me hate you. I could shove
your back against those crates and bite
your lips until you begged for more.
I can slant-rhyme “hate” with “want”.
Sorry--I know this narrator is really disgusting, and don't want to come off as though I'm endorsing them. They just wouldn't be proper sins if they weren't properly turpid. More disgusting is in the works.
ReplyDeleteI love the last line. The sevenling form really works here.
ReplyDelete(I never assume the narrator is the poet. Don't worry.)
I love this. It has a bit of Kim Addonizio about it. And I am sure I spelled her name wrong. I always do.
ReplyDeleteYou guys are lovely, and I should have known better than to apologize. (I've been reading this fantastic book about the Ern Malley hoax, and it is reminding me to value my negative capability. The Sons of Clovis by David Brooks--highly recommended.)
ReplyDelete