everything is brushed off. when they fix me
it will be i wasn’t me anymore. the way—
Road Closed sign
next to the road
the car
is driving down
— the way i don’t want to be
available to the lowest bidder
and i’m in your bed sort of there i guess
it’s embarrassing
wanting anything
i was twelve six years ago
eighteen two years ago
twentyone yesterday
you only ever wanna fuck
the child in me. i just want
my arms around the angle
of my knee. denim touch
of palms. i never asked
to be a human thing.
my head shrivels off a lower head
my cock browning bud over a lower cunt
the Road Closed sign i stand
beside
as the car runs through me
into even sections:
before, after
