ARMIES OF FIVE
Like a bitch, my teeth hurt, my
tongue rots, and I can't swallow
things. It's five past whatever it
was five past yesterday at this
time. And. I. No. Longer. Care.
Bring me those breach-birth
forceps here, and let my put
two dents into your new kid's
skull. 'Gripper-holes' we can
call them - starting something
new. Like. A. Trend. A tattoo
under my tongue that reads,
'under my thumb.' Yes, it's a
mistake, but we knew it was
wrong and no one would see
it here. O. U. C. H.
-
I want to marvel at the
Marvelettes, and wonder at
the Stevie Wonders in your
mind. C'mon, baby, let's go
downtown; we can watch
the hot dogs on the grill.
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