every Friday night, boxing tribal beats
zealously--fucking take the hint.
Verile and presupposing your kill-bill wish list,
realizing addiction is closer than she thought
as she sucks another yaeger like it's Capri sun
in the summer before fourth grade,
braces and sunscreen giving baby skin
a sexy sheen. X-Ray scanners sound
like marathon runners on the bank of the river,
holding their stomachs like flowers until
the funeral party has passed, too upset
to try to convince them otherwise. I suck
the yaeger and say 'suck' with my eyes
shut, try to convince them otherwise.
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