with a lukewarm gun
in the belt of my jeans
size thirty two
i enter the saloon
of housekeeping magazines
african american queens
abusing the power of
"may i put you on hold"
ma'am, allow me to be bold
in saying that i appreciate
the extent of your bosoms
i'm here for the root canal
on the tooth that did most of the hard labor
of my early childhood infatuation with hard candy
i'll take your blank aristocratic gaze
to mean you'd like to rip my clothes off
but that is not how you were raised
to act in a professional context
well allow me to tell you a couple of facts
about the variety of perspectives to this situation
it's six in the morning, i've lost sensation
from popping pills for the last three days
of pudding, warm water, salt, and toothpaste
and thus am close to my primal incarnation
not a boy in a clean black shirt
nor a well-mannered, obedient patient
i came here to get hurt
as i press your head gently against the imperfect fax machine
that receives insurance confirmation only when it so pleases
warms the gentle waves of hips as varied as french wines and cheeses
until a scream unwraps the hum
of the broken and the numb