Tags
Diana Prince, everything is better with a katana, lewd selfies, Lynda Carter, mewling, Our Lady of Blue Hot Pants and Breastplates, poem, Poetry, potbellied twins, radio static
“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.