MID-AIR BREASTS
Stand around and smell
They are cinders from wood-loin fathers
Let them chant the ingredients to the purple paste
From sacs on defense organs
All a series of names with double-digits at the end
Up and out for the abundant vegetable of doubt
ELOHIM
I'm 50 years old
Afraid of all shapes
The dark is a lover who says
You are going to tear me apart
WE ARE THE CIRCUMCISION
I am beyond eating
my hand stays in the fryer
the collateral for all this
a thimble full
from the tip of what she took
to be my cock
I haven't a foreskin
I’m not particularly faithful
cause is obscene
I rape the best
parts into being
the worst parts I don’t think
I'm getting my deposit back
later she will call
without a phone
from a mounted position and say
“Look what I turned you into”
I see a statue of Mary stomping
on a snake neither looks innocent
she says
“Its useful now”
NAZ BOWMAN lives in Philadelphia.