McCannot (prodigalsun) wrote,

david plucks a harp to orgasm.

today, the sky looms low & woolen.
today, my breath
sticks like a warm egg
in my throat.
enough space on our table
is occupied
by bread & coffee
like ink.
knives on china
are chiming midnight.
you may even choose
your food
by color.
everything is clean & useless.
everyone is clean & uses nothing.
our voices have soaked
into the walls without staining.
our pulpy bodies mop up smoke.
today, i choose an ironically white dress
& think of milk
while a distant door
slams twice,
like gunshots.
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