The Science of Leaving
You take the gas can from my eyes.
It sings about afternoons of hate.
You hold the gas can and whisper threateningly.
The police ask if you forgot your umbrella.
"Will you build martinis?" they ask.
"I've been handed better death than this," you say.
You never loved me.
I injected my computer with sperm.
It sat up, talked about nothing for hours,
and then left me for a bigger household.
I screamed, "You forgot your tampon castle!"
and went and knocked that castle down.
"Every day is a tampon castle."
When robots fuck are their pupils shaped like gasoline?
What obligations are required of objects that I hump?
Is masturbation the same as typing on a computer?
Does sex exist, do orgasms happen?
Print your address below. (Cocksucker.)
Look, the swine are fencing their butchers.
Neither group is winning, thank someone.
I refuse to talk about pirates.
How's your liver?
So far, so good . . . and bleeding.
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