You Can Sing Any Two Songs Together
if You Slow Them Down Long Enough
I like a fat turnaround visual piety
an Indian blanket sore nipples
but it makes me nervous to pinpoint the moment
your right to unite us expired.
Someday I'll climb from this cave of cheese fries
hand over my nether parts be more than sludge
a nice metal donkey a mint-green-haired zombie
a girl in a dogsuit. I'll check for wires
while my sky's falling see a baby rabbit
skinned in the backyard my cunt burning blue
like a cartoon eye the déjà vu of being
the sick sailor cat dressed in the blind attic
fact or figurine. You'll want more minerals
an itch in your crotch ceremony's fragility
wearing a clown wig a Cabbage Patch mask.
You'll dance as I squat on El Camino Real
roll Guadalupe a fresh cigarette
the royal row row row of the bland silver mine
and I will smell catshit among the young cacti
and grandpa will still be alive
and I'll keep asking why
are you still so obsessed with me?