My Little Lo’

08 May


My Little Lo’  


I would like to sell you

like a bundle

like an american dream to an eager immigrant

with pockets full of lottery tickets

but before that

let me fuck you as though it was how I worshipped

and let’s get high and forget everything for a while


I remember

I was nineteen while she was seventeen

yet she still called me Humbert Humbert

like a dirty old pervert

unreliable and sullen

hopeless, but less pedantic


Sometimes I wish I was still there

in that river’s wonderful ebbing roll

with water that tasted like fresh murder

polluted by mysterious questions of a rhetorical nature

and other toxic heroes we’d read about together

while chewing on the filthy holy air that bound us like scenery


And if death comes on, she’ll say:

“Oh my little liar, oh my sad little liar –

what has gravity made of you!”


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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