One of these days I’m gonna drive this piece of shit into the ocean, is what I tell you. But it’s your baby, you say. Junk baby.

Cold Engine

A woman here for unrelated reasons and donning what can only be described as a coat made of pink feather boas gives birth to a howling infant. It’s not mine, she screams. But we all think it’s hers.

Sadness, Followed by Anger

Again she has us all dressed up
as men, the best of men, each of
her sisters, sisters to each other.

Beloved Disciple