- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Home Smells Like Piss and Beer
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Trepidation is exalted feeling. Coffin dust silence. Different ones seek and need the lash. The dizzy nights of the Quarter. The dice rolls, happenstance, omniverse, tarot and psalms. I need for things to be slightly out of control but secure in a kind of swaddled bondage. Like cheap plastic cup drinking through wires of jawbreak and shame. The night the bum and I pick-pocketed for food money. He kissed my hand. Never once asked for anything from me but cover. The nights down in Thibodeaux. Back then with Lily. I've shaken the curse. Or woken the beasts.
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