Naomi Foyle

Loaded Player

I said I wanted to listen
to something that beckons
forbidding and lush

"Something that beckons
forbidding and lush?  Ah yes, you
want to keep talking
to me"

wish a place between your face
pack your penis in wet sand
stroke a stripper's outer space
the clock tower holds my head in its hands

in my game of Russian Roulette
everyone loses                         their senses
bury me under your tree

of CDs

The East Village Poetry Web