deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hypomania
I have to think of sex
to sleep.
I have to turn each leg over,
then back the other-
then over-
then back again, like BBQ chicken
on a spit, dribbling stomach acid,
pale fat lurching forward
like a slow, tremulous wave.
I’m not hungry but I’d like to eat;
to keep my fingers, eyes and mouth busy
whilst I turn each leg one way
then the other.
I have to think of sex.
I have to think of sex.
to sleep.
I have to turn each leg over,
then back the other-
then over-
then back again, like BBQ chicken
on a spit, dribbling stomach acid,
pale fat lurching forward
like a slow, tremulous wave.
I’m not hungry but I’d like to eat;
to keep my fingers, eyes and mouth busy
whilst I turn each leg one way
then the other.
I have to think of sex.
I have to think of sex.
Published 27th Aug 2013
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