Smoking the seeds will make you sterile. If
dancing with me senseless dressed in snow
fables dessicate, sugar to latent rapidity
somewhere between tongue and tooth. Skins

unravel from shirts tarnished upside down (
am overshadowed by cats shooting victims
from fists of corners of blackened fur—sitting:
face side down from you on the corner left )

Usury, bitches! Flaky snail tomboyish, ill
like the business I gave you with mouth
towns you used to live in now gone, totaled;
Fist it right out of that blood-truculent till!

The seeds don’t give a shit. They’re always pushing
too hard on the obstruction of automatic doors