i want my words to be the sweat
between the hands of two domesticated sluts
i want it to be a dollar-store thong
twisted and tired from driving men nuts

i want to write with the pride
of the traveling bard tradition
blending the cynicism of cheap vodka fights
with the realism of sober intuition

i want to make myself new
each morning after our worlds agree
and write because we're forever slaves
to the hope of somehow breaking free