On tip-toes Im tall.
Im a generous man with a cannibal bitch inside my penis,
chomping pink muscles like a bubblegum fiend
Eating her way out a sock.
I fuck. I live
12 minutes from the bus station, but I cant get it up.
I could rhyme tough luck, stop buck, Gods truck,
and club this poem to dust.
Met you once.
You met me Tuesday.
I remember you said my smile killed
Ladies and dressed up in their clothes.
You said that Im selfish.
That if I wasnt careful Id end up all
Loaning a jillion bucks
to stop global warming.
I said tough luck like that
Only happens on Wednesdays.
Return to Archive
FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 45 | Spring 2015