woe

‘what is the current preferred method of self-annihilation, siri?’
a girl who wanted to die. who bore the price of away like money.
a simpler breed of mothers and lovers.
how many days she thinks about it
while the boys out drinking seems delightful.
how many ways, indeed, to skin a cat?

he says ‘that’s a long burning candle.’ he’s off to bed.
it’s not what you think. he’s left her a few thousand oily dreams.
maybe she rubs herself away a little.

he says ‘you’re not letting it get you.’
she says ‘no, sir. keeping ahead of them apples.’
a solid what becomes clear when it burns. seems wholesome. a way of dying
is to swallow it down. she’s a dumb kid.
she drives a nail in swinging. she’s full of bad.
she lifts her leg up. she fights. she plays pinball.
she drinks down all hollow and hot.
she finds her tongue in her crotch. she lifts her skirt up.

she wishes you’d carry her: you who saw a bird lift there before.
and the other, who was that noisome bird, who lit up all vibrating streak,
who made that sound, who lived to tell,
who was the lesser for his optimism.

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