poem of the #5

GOD LEFT HIS LINENS IN MY PURSE

So I settled for masturbation and mouth wash
and channeling the spirits of dead mice.

Call me the sister with the hop chop,
the shiny shoes with the stampede sole.

Tonight, we're totally an acid reflux hoodie
bumping the head out the hands stuffed.

"Don't call it a comeback," said the lifer
to the guard. "I'll be gone one way."

Sometimes your head looks like this: { }
which frightens me. No, it excites me.

My wig burns. My dick frisks itself.
It looks like this: 8====:(((((((

because you are not there.