glinting triggers cocked

making the axe seem blunt
we dressed like sex, for change
pushing embryonic cells
to the western brink

gargling each other's saliva
we waited for the next wave
of orgasm screech, a cannon

then I'm perched at the neck
reasoning with yr godless particles
knocking up the pedal a notch
busting gallipoli rhymes
at the wallpaper seams

yr level-headed, red-blooded mouth
yr blue heelers heeling
held like arms folded
twisted at the knees
bent at the ankle
up to the shoulders
in smog

our elbows of swollen back welts
yr nipples dipped
in wax, my mother
an empty canteen

improvising life
instead of
living it

---

poem for twisty's zine