Naomi Foyle

Loaded Player

I said I wanted to listen
to something that beckons
forbidding and lush

"Something that beckons
forbidding and lush?  Ah yes, you
want to keep talking
to me"

wish a place between your face
pack your penis in wet sand
stroke a stripper's outer space
the clock tower holds my head in its hands

in my game of Russian Roulette
everyone loses                         their senses
bury me under your tree

of CDs




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The East Village Poetry Web