Tuesday, March 19, 2013

bukowski wrote about being drunk and dirty and 
terrible to women so on the
off chance
that he was calm and curled in her sheets,
an 8 o'clock shadow pressed to her cheek
it would be a pleasant surprise.

we do that, 
lead you to believe that our words are skin
and give you the ugliest of them-
old turtle shell poems.

then we roll over, show you the pink underside of our bellies 
when you're in the bathroom,
crying over us.

[unzipped my wrists and pages fell out.]

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