in Leatherpuss, Texas.
I drink the whiskey God recommended
don’t swallow white pills.
Did you ever see the lassie
tracing her bribe down the front of our the jack-in-the-box?
Our father dresses her in a clownsuit
so we see our excess
our pigpen our playpen our hairy premise
our dark green love on rocks reflected our leech rivulet.
I’ve made this wet mess
when all I wanted was peace Pentecostal
the neuropsychotic softness in us.
Now, your orange-sequined shirt
reaches my knees.
You tie the pink scarf under my chin
like I have a toothache
turn me to the life-sized
automaton and his soldier-pink cock.
I walk toward him thinking how you get the privilege since you almost died
and I’m the anarchic presence usually hunkering under the sunporch.
and summer’s the end cry the clown girl’s dark glasses
and how then you’ll hunt me for my fur.