ALL DRESSED UP AND READY TO GO
I want applause.
I want bottles of acrid beer.
I want a collection of bored co-eds.
I want a deprived chaton to demolish.
I want elegance deluded by adolescent energy.
I want to fumigate everyone for the best friendship.
I want gonorrhoea fuelled acrobats in flight and gagged.
I want humidity gone from the Earth, faded in and out with helium.
I want ignorance.
I want jalapenos on Iraqi justice.
I want kaleidoscopic ideas, ideally, kinky.
I want lovers by crab-like, geometric lepers.
I want men; Lebanese; created by forms of musk.
I want nothing more than my list of fecal notions.
I want ocelots nearby, every minute of every next October.
I don’t want to write poetry.
Lewis Dalton
