Take me to The Moist, Baffled Ice Cream.
It’s a nice nook with a purring cat but
things keep disappearing near the sound
system. Of course. It’s the bra in you,
bra. Small break in class to fall asleep to.
Wake up in the middle and he’s all caught up
in me. Paint a big honkin’ capital “L” into
the apartment. My nook can breathe now,
but there’s tea whistling through a thick wall
of carpet. I think she was born with lots of
money in her ears. And poor he; such a mis-
understood Cocteau, always getting fresh
with the Poetry. Nothing left for you, sir, but
the stiff nymphs (Whitman, Crane & Stein, LLP).
