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“telling lies/ well, that’s no surprise” — the Go-Gos

You want it like I do: burning monsters
surged in fevered swamps. Rising grabby grasp

into my valley red/ into Rapture’s
blood/ Fierce girl’s mouth/ I am every last gasp

you cum/ laughing/ perfected. What we do
is sin/ touch-and-go/ these ridiculous

elder things/ man-masks! how burdensome “you
are,”
how hard it is to breathe/ Lustrous

daughters/ make me your sister’s swamp/ wild wrong
beating/ Anger’s bone that violent flame-brute/

heh, my Mama’s joy, her anguished left hand
birthing until she cried this cradlesong/

this calm/ We are a muddy substitute/
a false boy-god’s brat/ childhood of sand.