garbage

drunk walk home

drunk walk home

i fear that time has no place in my heart

while i drag this corpse along these blue stones

i recall you named it a bag of bones

and maybe that is a good place to start

(hanging up the ribs— "oh, a work of art")

can you blame it now on the pheromones?

i drag the cadaver and hear no groans

you subdue me and name me a sweetheart

i am putrid, lily-liver pulsing

thorns drip from my lips infected with you

i fear this funereal march like a storm

this glorious procession like a wedding

i am no venus, but i'll have to do

my corpse cinched, i can finally perform