from tucson, not quite a view of iceland in vespertine (björk)

i've spent the day up

to my shanks in papier mâché.

valentine's work.  glue fumes

vault me sky as venus, high

as venus as a boy, i wanted

to build you something snowflake

perfect with shoveling frosting

for cheeks and my face melted.

a rube takes sun in mouth, spits

a pox on phallic desert, dear

but wouldn't it be perfect?  matthew

barney?  tricky?  goldie?  zach-

ary?  so cavalcade compleat!

speaking of suffix, our cremasters

flex in unison and i'm famished.

maybe let's do lunch.  let's

possibly do jóga?  i want you

swanning around

in $5,000 worth of dead.

put on the bird dress for me.