5/6/13

Bring Black Rice


You neck me 
with calligraphy cuts

romantically red, silent,
and scythed in
a line unbreakable:

I'll take you away from here.

But I scab
into Supple’s slut—
fresh flesh to

finger and fuck :
blame and blemish. Thus

I pick to bleed. My histamine inflames
so singeing your loved letters rise

and remind Rigor Mortis
to marry us.

I gush
to be your staleheart, 
skipping—with you—

every 

beat.