- We will luck into bra-straps thrice daily, pull the drawstrings into our teeth for breakfast—
- Dance with cataleptic intent, the box of chili diminishing to the institutional breakfast, or a lark—
- Pull down the pants of a Bantamweight’s lunchbox snack, clickety-stacked, crumbling the duck like a Match Box tire—
- Wallace’s rawhide knuckle wallet, walnuts, chewing hard on a mouthful of felt, soccer, suction cups, a thimble—
- Sign all letterheads “love Sid,” bark at the tollbooth like a frog, set the strings of your pajama bottoms on fire—
- Fiddle with squids, take them to task, dance like a truck does the birthday rumble—
- My scrotal unhooks like a roll of toilet paper: chocolate, chalk, Trakl, talk show: fuck the doomed rodents, let them stain
- Bleach your nostrils like a hooded sweatshirt; I’m very pleasant to wash—
- Dash you to threads, purple lady, leap on some trashy, you are the darling of what Marty’s girl sting—
- Slip and inhale the wickets!
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Published by Curt
I am a poet and journalist and so on amber so forth in rows magnet.
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Curt Hopkins | Writer 