instead of leaving the world thin,
where the girls are calm and rich,
we open to the lobby, where i am as if a silencer.
i am a meal ticket to meet the emperor,
regalia to spiff up and step to,
lovely breasts that we both revered
now under pressure and
wet cloth of having drowned.
that good-enough molasses.
is this how to chant-handle?
say you owe me free flesh
say thank me in the ravine
and waste praise on a live daughter.
is the live daughter lovelier
is the live daughter hell-yes
is the live daughter plastered
is the lived daughter chased through
is the live daughter paused, piled,
is the live daughter forgetting on the stairs
is the live daughter valorous
is the live daughter lit?
my purple bits, i feel i’ve let you down.
in sight of the wreck, the rocks
warnings and past experience dissolve
and we, the kids, the boat people
do really start to throw our weight in big-bellied arcs to beat the tide—
we cannot contain our utopia.