Does it get you off,
this honesty
in my voice,
this
weakness
in my taste?

Does it turn you on
to know
that
you are
expendable

in every
which way but
my way?

I think it gets you off
to think
of a shadowy figure
hanging from
a ceiling fan

going 'round
and 'round
and, hell,
right 'round.

I think it turns you on
when
helicopters
scope out woods
with spotlights
and megaphones

looking for
homicidal
citizens.

Stop
this
naïve
network
you've safety pinned
and duct taped
me to.

You're just modeled
after
the honeysuckles
we've crashed into
all this week.

the smell
that started it all
leading
to the
momentary
lapse of

'without you everything
falls apart.'

I think
it turns you on,
being alive
around
forces
that reek
such havoc
that you can only
see as chaos
without beauty.

I think you're going to get off
like a fourteen year old
teenage boy
safely delivered to puberty
by his childhood babysitter
he fucked in the backseat
of her
2002 Volkswagen Jetta.

Is this turning you on?
I think you're getting off
right now.