May 03 2016

This is a fuck; the gods can have it back.

I blew my share—and off were blown her shoes.

I’m done with this, and these, and that girl’s rack.

You sin, you win; you take it back—you lose.

You never win or lose or tie alone.

You lose, and all existence hears the news,

from Hackensack to way out past Bayonne.

You lose some screws and flood the holes with booze.

How tiny, green, and scummy is my world?

My perfect insignificance winks out.

The brick flew straight; the postal metal curled.

The keeper heard within and turned without.

She said, “I’d give you credit, but you missed.”

I prayed for one more fuck, and then we kissed.


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