A poem about Chinese food
I wanted to write a poem featuring the word orgasm,
because the word orgasm is a poem unto itself.
There’s this guy, I think of him as kpaca; he’s changed his e-name a few times. I don’t know his real name, or anything about him.
Anyway, he writes stuff, and I like a lot of the stuff he writes. One of his poems contributed towards me sitting in my chair shaking and chain smoking for a few hours:
lay the rain up in the vein,
immortality now formality.
eggs for breakfast,
shriveled, broken bluebonnets.