A partial index of
kisses before the age of consent
Beside the fishpond,
too hard, and bumping teeth
in the back of a
pickup open mouthed and tongueless
till our jaws ached
from the empty feast of it
in dreams against
imagined sex smooth as a dolphin's blowhole
furitively, the back
of the hand,
shehulk and
vampirella and cherry poptart in smeary newsprint
sheen of oil in a
hustler, a oui, a cheri
a bad-tracked
betamax snowstorm
back, then, drunk
babysitter
hitting drums with
wooden spoons
with ragged-tatters
of insulation hanging like party streamers
with the foster girl
beside the dumpsters, almost.
some distant cousin
in the funeral parlor break room
to the biker's
daughter, the trash-filled woods
in truth. In dare.
yellow polaroids
older than memory
frozen sun,
rapturous with an unremembered neighbor
who dared me eat a
white spider
in the pig farm's
dirt
or back to origin,
my godmother
with jack daniels on
her breath
or past innocence
a girl on a set of
steps
who had had a
Budweiser bottle broken over her head
beneath the cloud of
county fair dreamcatchers
in the trailer park
on a cement pad
beside a highway
covered in blood and
dresed in white
in the rotting
airstream, with old milwaukee
and bad hashish
in the haunted
basements
in the gravitron
line, the himalaya, the screaming eagle
through clouds of
aquanet and cherry chapstick, sloe gin and coke
on the steps of the
silverball arcade
in exchange for a
Ratt t-shirt
after crawling
through a doube-wide window
after everyone had
gone to sleep
and rubber banded
braces backstage at the crucible
in a maze of
basements, and the rooftop of the athena
with college
freshman and a mouth full of towny lies
in bathrooms, in
stairwells
in the theater they
were stripping of asbestos
in bonfire-lit woods
in the river smelling mud
in the rock ridges
of the hills
with my stepfather's
mistress
in prayer to the
devil
with shotgunned
smoke, with old crow
with two mezcal
worms in my belly
with a head full of
blotter acid
in the woodshop
bathroom atop a cracked sink
in a storm sewer, in
a tent shaking with speed
on the handlebars of
a half-stolen bicycle
under the railway
trestle
in sprung beds and
rent to own couches
and roach filled
apartments above the street
in a forest green
chrysler sedan with a dead battery
in a thousand
graveyards
in the kicked in
mausoleum
in the empty church
in the ruined house,
beside the dead well
before the fire came
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