each morning I drop
by the gas station
on the way
to the dropoff [dropdown/flux/a little skirt
the freak-fire in the wet]
I emblood outstick
the noxxle to my lips let it flow flood fillup
36lbs per square inch by inch
gets me inflated and heady
ready to crush
what is in my path arrive at work
with dead moths spread in my eyes
begin the slow climb
up the wall to the yellow light extended distaff erectio
here and there I will
catcall remains of my grandfather
through the long and winding one such day
clinging to a fatbulb with bulging eyes
you know blowhard [scat] it ain't easy
I look forward only—
only now with such investment in the fusèd skull
.
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