wormhole to the floor, witch-lifted.
split inchoate rum & coke

pressed to throat enough
finds me glorious.

feed him my body little pieced,
washed & wrapped in gilt eye

               -liner & alka-seltzer. sweet
                twitch of pansy petals from my
                hair our mouths the only un-
                pronounced hulk in the room (more…)

“…along with the cat suit.”
—Margaret Atwood


Naturally, he proceeds to high-five his flat-brimmed buddy
then soaps his large hands clean in the stainless steel sink.
High on the urinal-caked fog, hypnotized by such ugly
green tile, I am suddenly numbed by the echo of their clap.
Such music in his diction! The fescue of his big dick!

Bestiality is halfway normal, when you think about it.
Did he realize this halfway in, or halfway out?
How unique, too, this cat raised by dogs, a channel of discovery
all its own. Rhetorical sex must be pretty lousy, a general rule of
dewclaw. They must be terrible fucks, right? I flush. (more…)