Halley's comet is electrocuted

every first semester, as paper cuts

feel mock adult limbs;

bedroom chess to occupy the mind and body

in front of Che Guevara.

Doesn't matter honey -

We are the Renaissance.

 

Shit

bites the stale coffee, the lecture notes

tumbling down

the dresses,

hands become hasty calculators

and calendars have suddenly run away.

Zoot suit is a comfy cell

 

but limbs flap easily in the stomach

and heaven knows how long

you'd have to slop up after it?

last night's patent shoes

seem suitable and swallow all,

take more than the doctor's advice -

paranoid feminist with plastic applications.

 

Shit.

What if you go somewhere with a galaxy?

Thought Police is a drinking game

to chat without a hint of double entendres.

Trend fascist

seeped through and raped your Catholic heart,

blue tacking incoherence over the walls, frightened.

 

With your eyes open, you see marble,

with your eyes closed, you see mess.