There’s so many pickled beats

and mythologies

Which

Tickle me, til’ my collar leaks,

Break branches in spite of my defeat,

Eat smoke, until my lungs breath free.

I apologize with nonsense swine, eagle bread, and tiger wine, I whine while I do no comply’s and steal the nutcracker between her thighs.

It’s all green and red and pumped up.

It’s all natural and leather full of ice cubes and flannel watermelon.

There are so many sling shots-

They’re made out of mistletoe and Zippos-

All these actors and anarchists living in Czech-list-nap sacks-

“Bleed, Bleed!!!!!!!!!!!” called Christ the homeless man.

He loves make believe and electric grills.

He likes this stripper who resembles Susan Sarandon.

He enjoys reverse cowgirl hypotenuses’ and steamed crab.

I’m pregnant with a cast-iron child.

His name will be Florence and his best side will be his feminine side.

He will play chess, but will probably get kicked off the chess team for his height.