On the subway, splattered, your dastardly

dream-turned-shower, shed as a badge of hard

car-knocks, all keepsakes of nastiness. Tree,

for the taking. Sap queen. I go marred bard

when I whine. O lured god, green ya twee boss

hewed. Pallid. Heed, as in, heed my prayer for

– rancor splotches? – all cooed quivered across

your face? Flushed a canvas like flesh you gore

my cum wryly. My thrust into the ankh

rusk of dusk; dripping down your chin. Such crust

spotting car-knickers; an unclean and odd

godly. Less swank and prank, more filthstank, rank

as in – Indeed. My mussed thrust. My trussed

bonedust gone g’na’d. Roughshod, little god.

][][

note.

As personal puns no one else will get “g’na’d'” is from the Armenian word for go, “g’na,” (գնա/ guh-naw), which I then put in English past tense (‘d) because apparently this is something I do.