Quick, drink up. It’s on me, despite all this.
— Try my red lips like a surgical scar
quickly opened — when you lean in to kiss
you’ll find that my teeth, immense and bizarre,
gleam. Try posing me in a slitted-skirt
with thighs crossed as two girls begin to brawl
over nothing at Juicy Lucy’s Yurt,
where it smells like yak milk, cum and Pinesol.
Mostly I don’t step in. It’s not science,
just cheap alcohol. Try a Butch Cockscomb
Crawl. But tonight’s different — for there are some
who find cold-blooded pleasure in violence.
After the fight I took the two girls home,
despite all this, we made it a threesome.