Drink Me, You Triple Bastard!
by Jillian Ward
I'm still maiming the one night scraps of a prick-thorned solitaire,
obvious flesh and capital pussy framed in waters bought and sold by Rhodes thighs.
With armfuls of kidnapped campfire I flux and tongue-flick
to tame the spent and lonely heartbeat of a spirit stain drizzling off the trees roots, down the nape of my neck, my legs, down into the drain spiral to be forgotten.
No current fixation or obsession just an honest compassionate headcount or head-shot,
Custodial sperm count of Eden garden futures wasted on the preservation of parasites.
Its body popped between two of my painted nails, some of my blood and its corpse on
faultless red.
©Jillian Ward (March 2nd, 2006)
*First published as "Drink Me" in The Bent Spoon Quarterly in 2007.
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