no sir, away! a papaya war is on

sitting in my room
writing poetry
listening to the fan chat about the humidity
collecting tears in the floorboard basin
thinking dirty thoughts
typing palindromes
on my great grandfather's remington
"won't lovers revolt now?"
cut the page in half
fold it twice
mail it to her later
start a new page
say the word sculpt out loud
over and over
until it doesn't sound right
light a cigarette and suck
"i roamed under it as a tired, nude maori"
amazing
think of the shark on her foot
open the window all the way
flip through pornographic memories
sitting in my room
writing poetry