We Are Prostitutes And Junkies

The ribbon binding our cervical ribs together
is resolved fire and
quantum mechanics wrapped in beat-one-egg-until-fluffy.

Cut your teeth on my frightened way of life,
point fingers at the spiders in my closet,
let
this
be.

I told you
together we could divide the universe by zero
and find the answer in the rubble.
But I was too delirious
to write down the name on my night-stand,
so I might have been wrong.

Forewarning was rolled off my shoulders
and picked up by the orphans
who wanted to have a life,
and yesterday I found
why I must listen.

Her eyes
are no more entrancing than my sighs, you said.
The sway of her fiending lusts
held no ground, you said.
But I told you poets never find
anything.

Strangers tell me I should eat more,
the world is not nearly as revolting as I write it;
he
will
come
back.

I told you the sun would swallow us up one day
and you asked
what became of my opium laced assumptions.