you watch grace jones

you watch you watch you watch me push the button several times i am looking ahead there is no membrane which communicates us we are ice cubes in separate cups while you suffer deliciously, un-no-ably, irresistibly reacharound the traffic pole this is sectored women’s business cbd’d i am landlocked by mali niger benin togo ghana and the côte d’ivoire. I made a burka out of fluorescent stick-on page markers. this fringe is remarkable. the light switches, it come and goes.

This entry was posted in homelands, poetry, prose/, stationary/ery, traffic lights. Bookmark the permalink.

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