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“it crawled into my system/ while my guard was down,” – curve, fait accompli

A prophetess speaks on
the airwaves. Got your ears

on? Roll me like spirit
weed, careful I crumble.

You called me a pretty
fear, for I am low. Off

the interstate I heard
their mewling among

the worm seed. Cat-
pawed girls, potbellied

twins, they say, don’t try
to get away, their flea

bites the proof that I need.
I would tie up their hair

in ribbons. We’d wear thigh-
high go-go boots. I wouldn’t

be lonely while shifting
gears. We three succeed in

worshiping Our Lady of Blue
Hot Pants and Breastplates,

Lynda Carter. Forever reruns
is the best an actress can

hope for. The static of a radio
and the static of a TV is

the same static. Somewhere
Diana Prince is taking off

her glasses. You think that
I’m lonely. You send lewd

seflies but that’s not what
I want. There are some spirits

I’d still fall on my sword for, as
if to say, got the guts for it?

Everything is better with
a katana. To say, indeed,

everything is better when
someone else is driving,

the window rolled down,
I’m drunk and lolling. Break

her, he said. You had no
choice. I go down like death’s

seed. I cloud your judgment.
Breaker. Breaker. Good

buddy. That is to say, I am
here to stay. Hear me now.