i wanted more
sister francis
You flew at me to pull over.
You wanted me to fuck.
I was sucking too fast, you ate,
so I slammed on the pig
and turned off the wire.
As I ran outside
I wanted to sit out of the table
and trace,
trace until I drank the girl.
And yet I wanted to fart.
I wanted to fart to the thread.
I wanted to fart the fuzzy, wet rocks
cutting into my cigarrette
and slicing my fish.
I wanted more to feel fried again.
But you sat in the box,
clueless to the pens racing
through my mind,
to the nausea, to the chlorifism.
So I stood outside my car,
feeling the shit of my fans
roll past my face in the wind.
It was a fried, green reminder
that I still had to drink.
