|Why the fuck not?|
UntitledIngestion?Untitled by Roulle
I can switch my gender at will.
the tv static is
not exactly thing
but pulsating slightly
with electric breath
$’s not a thing per say
warm and wet
essence hot and viable
money’s green is red
My sex is money
I the femme beast.
Well, this body's brand new, chrome and svelte hairs
prickle the upper lip. I follow a strict shaving regimen.
I have just learned to swallow again.
I have just learned to enjoy baths.
The water distorts proportion,
I have poured into it something milky and opaque---
water's shadow slinking toward the drain,
a darkness that smells close like lavender,
like Troy burning because we fell for the old trick
of believing our Ego through the distorted water,
where it was larger, more perfect, and further away.
if your touch is some thing
it’s a horse
running along my spine
in the warm afternoon glow
of a sitcom I see your herd coming
to reclaim this territory—
the thingness of you is s