Carrie Lorig


this is my cybersex. is it okay?


i hunt under a cement mixer pumping up the moon i hunt for more labels to kiss and peel
from your face do the soft porch step with me let’s hit the practice room for a light menu
graze a beach ball touch please fuck me against the dead shower hair how long have i had
a thing for dudes with intestinal fortitude since you feed me raw antelope guac since october
when the trees started scratching each other since you grated spoons in your mouth
for wires that fastened my sloughing heels my tireds bald and bald this is the birthday card
i want to get you pudding this is the grocery cart i made for small produce you popcorn string
tiny mud to the part of the lung that hurts most ooze a little lemon who’s a little squeezeheart

*

there is a warning in the egg drop light and in the commotion being filmed
on your glass lip i taste choir in the air barnacling your wrist before the heat there was
a darker heat caught on scratch paper we slipped up against the smoke alarm alarm
is a singing x-ray a bed sheet we can’t cool not without your help shower crumbs
salad dandelions not without your help kissy pulp snowy glands oslo above the
treeline it’s the sinking temperature that forgets to remind you of me

*

in august everyone can hear cross country practice beginning you can let me out
but i will not be very good i will trample all the rose sour onion muscles in tube socks
suck on my wolf rinds get under tenting goosebumps fortune samosa says your stomach
meant to red kidney salts and banned candy jean scrubbing i’m sorry about your heart ripped
at the knee that is how a mighty mighty date with crab cakes goes let’s get a little brunch
crunch going it came from the sensitive blueberries it came from a small local rain go running
go runeing the watered logs ruin and ruin and ruin i can’t raise these love letters alone


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