"I have this massive defect—" & I have
a mouthful of knives and velvet flesh
for cutting up. He too. And wingsglue
made from the hollow bones, all in
the heinous lacerations.
White residue when drying in the mouth
with blood, who never moreso than this
which rejected and rejected and again
rejected was, and who awful with the trying
and reverb-reverberations.
"I have brought you this small gift." & I
have made it out of paper, baking, little
modifications to the overall design,
practiced nonchalance, and a borrowed
doodle from a friend of sad penguin.
Two empty ice cream pints, because
he cannot hold the spite inside, because
he is so impatient. Because he's been
too long outside the refrigerator
and the hotness starts inside the belly.
