from tucson, not quite a view of iceland in vespertine (björk)
i've spent the day up
to my shanks in papier mâché.
valentine's work. glue fumes
vault me sky as venus, high
as venus as a boy, i wanted
to build you something snowflake
perfect with shoveling frosting
for cheeks and my face melted.
a rube takes sun in mouth, spits
a pox on phallic desert, dear
but wouldn't it be perfect? matthew
barney? tricky? goldie? zach-
ary? so cavalcade compleat!
speaking of suffix, our cremasters
flex in unison and i'm famished.
maybe let's do lunch. let's
possibly do jóga? i want you
in $5,000 worth of dead.
put on the bird dress for me.
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