0200 HOURS, BEDED LONESLY
Tremble I wake addict-thimble of love
leeched tight white catscradle abdomen
or playground (samsies) O blu-eyed buddy
-boy where are you in reverse in the din
of grindr loaded for bear? uh-ssst uh
-ssst profile pic glows blue in rows iPhones
poppin’ fly pixelated & pinch of
yr prick in it. Sport, I soft blew, come home
we’ll do something something with something glass
that crass duderinis couldn’t neva
spell or swell to take to toss —lip-glossed
and tweeting playground similes. Better
bail to come home and hurt me here & here,
than I stick-love myself and feel heart-queer.
TERRORSEX, NORSE; FILE UNDER
I am so much topper I can make you
whatever I want. Lord of visagoth
circle tear jerk I mean soft cock ring rock.
Goin’ Ragnarök on yr block phew
twist yr tongue and wring out the cum. Choo-
choo-choo say all the white little norse boos
(their iPhone’s leather master tells them to).
A völva temping as a shaman clocked
cloaked baby Garmr wuff leash lashed pull tick tock’d
paryers on their knees eanie meanie miney cocky
poppy cheeks of children of the corn’n chew
juicy creamed greens / white spiderweb seed slop
until, gargling rod seed, you realize:—
black become sunbeams entering your thighs.
APOCALYPSE RIGHT FUCKING NOW
Interstate road we rode so hard white pills
& blue fucking the sky was Bauhaus black
twatting ravens & co. So, Hon, say there’ll
be wick dippin’ in heaven: you’re a plum
puddin’ of yes all dressed to play some fuck
marry kill. Insanity assassin
Depeche Mode/Fast Fashion cigarette suck
& ashin’ in a killed Blue Ribbon can.
And storm swell drivin’ in rearview the sky
spouts & splatter like dumpster diving at
the abortion clinic. Dark the lights pile
up men we serve let’s blindingly shuck what
there is to be shucked a synecdoche
freedom simile. Kneel: bukkake tsunami.
Joseph Mains was born in the Sonoran desert. He lives in Portland, Ore., where he edits Octopus magazine and co-does the reading series Bad Blood.