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Sales & Co.



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Sales & Co.

Pass the Porn

squeak up my window.
flip down the switch
in my childhood bedroom, i can hear
cars on rained down pavement.
little waves meant for me.
that's why i sleep better here.
the cars and the rain,
i never sleep the same as i did
while growing up near a road.

used to hang by that road
with tom from next door
and we would pass the porn
and then the pot
and then the beer.
we would throw snowballs
at cars and hide like little boys.
saw his privates in the ditch
it didn't seem to bother me one bit

but then cameron and i went walking there.
she gave me a pretty sad, dry, cold, cracked hand job
in the woods behind my house.

it's taken me years to confront that
i'm not gay but i'm also not straight.
and i don't think that means
i'm bi,
but kinsey'd have somethin' to say
and so would my binary homophobic grandma.

I'm old enough now
we don't have to pass anything
I buy it all myself
but here gimme another drag
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of that cowboy killer,
so I can feel young and confused again,
or at least young.

These days I've fallen off the iron rod,
started chewing my tongue,
it's got a sort of iron of its own,
breaking my baby teeth
in my own head,
there's more falling out every day.

It always used to be about
what I could call myself,
a new name, a new direction
to point my faulty body,
a new something to fill it up,
smoke and contraband
leaking out the cracks,
teeth spilling out of my head
like pennies or prayers,
mouth all burnt like copper
and cheap incense,
I'm feeling more spacious
on the inside these days,
more like, maybe I don't
need heavy metals, or prayers,
maybe not even smoke,
full enough on my own,
jaw straight enough
I don't need guidance anymore,
so quit pointing your finger
and gimme another cigarette --