Monday, January 5, 2015

SALAD FOR KATE

Goddamnit Kate—
after years
there are definitely days

where
rather than love me—I'd sooner
have you

simply go
screw yourself up—wide
sour and

huge like a whirlpool—
all around the million 
or so 

greasy little globs of me—

pinning 
each of them—hard 
fast and 

like hell—
to every last 
boundary of your vast 

and prodigiously
pungent volume;

all for the sake 
of re-
creating regularlya pretty

dang usable—
ephemeral solution.

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