the dyke joke finally gets funny
at the house party where we are all but
our bodies and everyone is playing down
tempo remixes of their favorite fast songs
and we are all strobe and sorry and slowly
dragging out our drownings in a shallow ash tray
full of chicken bone and firefly carcass
all collected in the backyard of a hood
we poet into home and the jars
where we once lived are stained
with rotting red wine or what we want
to know as our brothers
and they are tipped over on the ceiling, dripping
on the thick girl with the tongue
whose mouth is open and braids are lilac
i want to ask her about her hair
but i don’t remember her
language and now, she won’t stop
playing her song loudest and i am
kinda into it, like the way it feels
when you know your skin well
and i am moving into my strange body
all fist-first into mouth-shaped u-haul and
asleep, my tongue is pierced twice
and swelling into a rooftop that she walks on
in a gold prom dress and i can see her
panties and i can crave her secret
stash of good herb and fat tongue
but i am not enough and everything
peacefully sacrificed in war so we descend
into the stars until i am alone-alone
and landed in a sofa, slumping
over in its own piss and
i lay there until my dress is piss
yellow and feel pretty and my hands
become toilet paper and i wipe the dress off
and i am finally naked in front
of everyone i’ve ever wanted
to be naked in front of