Bet you could pick up any thing cuz you got
seven fingers on your right hand and you don't waste
a single one. I read a wall said you rub
yourself to blisters back of there, soak
nipples in red wine and give communion. I like
you like that; Fearless Bitch; meet your maker
with your hands in your pants.

Can't help looking back at those
lips swollen like they've been slapped, I
think that's how you get us all like how
momma birds play wrecked for cats—everyone
loves a victim.

Bet you stick smiles in their mouths, suck
voices from their groins, lick
wires through their eyes so they stay
closed. God help a piece that stares. I'm going
to light my jaws tonight so you'll see
me talking, click my knees like ruby shoes, and find
an empty pew. I'll lie back there on varnished
oak and quiet me counting beads.