you fuck like a racehorse!
it's your wedding day, say: yes
you want to be pollinated
frays of friction far too sacred
we survive between our hunger
dig our heads into the water
memorize your casket, your mother patterns
the space between your legs, i grab what's good of you
you pluck fruit from my endless head
re-arrange them to make your salt sweat
bite snakes down for better shelter
fridge your orgasm, make it colder
we put our blood in bags, we don't want water
and you hold me close inside the slaughter
and you look so much better without that shit in your hair
i mean, saddles if you need them, but i could ride you bare
and you can swallow shotguns if you want to
there are bullets in your paintings, if you want them
there are hooks to hang your kill
there are floodboards rising upward
fields our fathers fled from, and bedrooms we don't dare go to
i would like a word with you!
you can swallow shotguns if you want to
and you can shed the lions from your songs
take the blankets off, show me under your clothes:
the tattoos you don't have, but believe me, your body knows
you can swallow shotguns if you want to
it's your wedding day, say: yes
aprons or rifles, anarchist?
sleep in the slaughterhouses?
quilts quiet made from our spit?
i am letting all you horses go
(you are better wild my arms are coming out)