Mother Fucker


mother fucker

I have decided, sweet lady, that time is a mother fucker
and having decided this, brave toasted angel, I’ve made
preparations to take the bastard out
things might get messy
so if you are inclined w/ a weak stomach

I beg of you to wait here for me this will only take a minute
and if I am successful it will not even take that for once
I have appropriately carcassed this beast there will be no
such things as minutes, or hours, or even springtime
afternoons–ok maybe

there will still be springtime afternoons, as well there
should be (forgive me, I get carried away) but you will
no longer have to measure yr enjoyment in such things

against the paper yardstick of this mouthy fuck-like
mortality in which we’ve so elegant-lessly been sleeved so
weep not lover (oh how yr beauty feeds me like a sandwich)

we will all be saved by 3 o’clock, I mean soon




(from my book I Was Going To Use That, Farfalla Press)


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