scratch ticket poem it is a REGAL RHAPSODY to my EAR to hear that you'll be GIVEN SEVEN years for what you did to me while you AIM your prison darts at my face tremoring with hate eating POTATO in a TUBE I'll be YAWNING in an OUTFIELD somewhere doing YOGA and JUDO in the sun I, hardly concealing my GLEE will vacate...
tooth-hole pissbucket the place where a tooth once existed, but does no longer seems to be trying to pull me into its viscous, gummy darkness I run my sandpaper tongue over and around the spot. It feels strangely pleasurable, applying pressure But then-- there she is curled up on the cold floor of a camper mid-winter her prison doubled over...
