THE DEVIL I KNOW

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I am aware of being the

Cunty Fair prize piggy
as a digital sentimental

as a reluctant softy

as a quick concept of

“good”

in your match list

 

I am no longer hungry

cannot gorge on pies

for looking any longer

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if my body gets referred

to as revenge any further

I will spend all my money

& disappear along with it

I no longer care to know

my form in its illustration

I am bored by a la carte or vibes

I want idle touches

& swear by the bible of scarcity

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only pay close attention to

my hands like my mother’s

a grand on my fingers

as close as I’ll get to deserving

still carelessly your

Americana Cave Woman

never seen a mirror

callassed by loyalty

at the expense

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