- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Porcelain God
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permanence loosens her death grip
on hopelessness, on homelessness, on solitude
the bitch must be losing. I almost can’t
feel her, and I wonder if this is what its like
to be weightless, to be free, pour another
shot, almost free, ready to free my
skin and open the latch to my skull, let
my mind float away from her, yea I’m
gone, going, porcelain worship, flush
my body, watch my weightlessness go,
watch it drop, down the swirling hole
to waste, to float with three-eyed fish,
flush and her grip, tight as death’s fingers.
