Thursday, July 6, 2017

from the archives

I know when I know

I know my teeth are starting to rot.
Every morning I wake up and the film
lining my teeth feels like acid.

As a grown woman, I find it amusing that my mother
reminds me to shower and that my man asks for shaved legs
in order to celebrate birthdays, holidays,
anniversaries the proper way.

Sometimes I smell.
Yet I'm expected to cater.
Pigs in a blanket, mixed drinks, mood music.
It's atmospheric pressure.

Caligula knew how to party
but unfortunately lacked the skills
to communicate frustrations and
bad days at the office.

I know the disjointed quality of being human.
the desire to be good and bad in perpetuity
And I know for sure-
so sure I'd bet my rotting teeth

he's in heaven
organizing
yet another
comparatively innocent orgy.


...
written circa 2000
edited 2017