Imagination lets you be anyone you want in England or Alice’s restaurant.
NO-ONE TALKS TO ME
because I’m deaf, fat,
crippled, morally corrupted
whenever I touch myself
when I should be touching you
got nothing to lord, but the sin.
I’m going to make it up
those pictures in my head
projected from that part of me
as unreliable as a fishhook
past its depth and me
twisting my head.
Oh yeah
Oh yeah
kissing the dead.