broken photo #21, by dustin king

Peer through this wobbly telescope
to walk a mile in my brain.
You can’t concentrate on what you can control
if you behead yourself each morning.
Sweaty-palmed, 6th cup of coffee, 15 mg of baby blues.
I refuse to refrain from too much wine at the dinner party,
what of it?
I can corpse my way through any conversation,
bleach the shit stains from diarrhea of mouth tomorrow.
My permanent state of being is multi-multi-tasking
and I aint even had kids yet, bitch.
I sell nudity to an eskimo &
my accountant takes care of the rest.
Hang up if you’re not in the business of myth-making.
I blow wind with these lungs.
The locusts only swarm when the river stops flowing blood
and it’s day 2 of my period and i wore white.
Behold, woman.
Just remember birds eat the eyes of the dead first
before you check out my ass again.



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