I feel weighed down by hopelessness 
when I taste longing. That is the point 
of prison I guess. And now we are drinking 

I imagine you putting your hand 
up my dress. My new dress 

I imagine you putting your hand up 
my dress. My new dress with the slit 
on the left is how, yes 

with the toxic glamour of the recitation 
of your history turned on by baring 

abjection. I will become the vomit emoji 
umbrella-less and gleaming with grins

Yesterday I couldn’t sell more than one dress 
from a bag stuffed with dresses. I was weeping 
at the creation of a new duke and duchess

The dewiness of the grasses slaps my shoe-tops 
Dressed in an undersea forest, girls enjoy their floaty skirts 
It is more convenient not to notice your own thefts

or who starved themselves to death from homesickness 
(the crocodiles and only them, in low pens 
under the Colosseum). But who will be 

our witnesses. Tomorrow the moon 
of helpless rage—I know I promised to be fine 

and I will eat I will eat I will eat 
this stalk of broccoli at 3am 
squatting feral by the crisper leaking brightness 

Your sullen mask I am not even allowed to see 
This stolidness is my only honest expression