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In our bungalow we are so close, one skin pressed to another
holds us head to foot pillow foot to head head together, held like breasted babies.
Though a crack under the sink in the gap under the floor till where the house sits in its own shit.
Broke in on Monday night late shopping for dripping we could smell them, smell us, and call our call to feed.
We can run like whips, in there’s more like eyes, dry eyes on plates asking to be eat and straight off we’re stuffing on blue, the blue dry eyes, snorting soap flakes and Fairy bathing in beef fat like Sunday dinners. What a way to go kids!
But what a thirst.
And she drank the wash water till she pissed herself and me we laughed a week.
She’s the one fat with a brood – just Tod A drowned rat – just Tod
Still going though, can’t keep me down – just Tod.
Monday.
Her belly fatter than can ever be seen true.
Our babies inside fill up with gas like ripe cheese pop tarts.
If I could I would regret for them and her while
wrapped around the hot water pipe us two beef-drunk lovers while Sucking up the stuff like drains while
Sucking up the blue dry eyes while
Sucking, snorting, pissing, waiting to die and stink like rats do.
December 11, 2014