I have tried to send this a few times... I fear I am being filtered here
and so must adulterate the spelling...
Testament
Lover, I leave you this:
Some thirty-six s**t poems,
gagging on their febrile gorge.
Fat squalid fledglings, featherless, helpless.
Find them new homes.
My wind-up grief not used for years;
I once played with that for hours.
Its key is lost, its spring is rusted.
Clean it with your faithless tears.
In a jar in the bathroom, my misogyny;
use sparingly, a touch around the eyes each day.
The misandry is under the sink.
Keep that for our progeny.
When did sex become ceramic?
So translucent and so brittle.
Our bodies wheeling, thrown together.
What was fired is now arctic.
On the kitchen chopping board
Lie our vegetable hopes.
You might slice them somewhat smaller.
I could never, though I tried.
Take whatever you desire.
Take the walls and f***ing roof.
You can find me in the shed.
I've cut out my mouth.
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