To the poets whose books I've
at Barnes and Noble in Amherst Mass.
If I pay $24.95 for your hardcover,
that is the equivalent of one lap dance.
Now in case you dont understand,
that means for 5 minutes I pretend
to be the giddy ditz who always smiles,
the Jezebel with a crank up pussy
who enjoys smacking her chapped lips
and making 50 dicks hard every night.
I have to apply my lip gloss so it looks
like Im ready to suck, by that time
I cant even see them anymore. I look
past their skulls and through the wall
into the parking lot where a kitten licks
drips from the bottom of a dumpster.
A guy standing behind me wont stop
sliding his sweaty and cold beer bottle
up the crack of my ass, I havent seen
his face, but he whispers he loves me.
Tonight, I scrub G-strings with Brill-O.
Tomorrow, pay a dancer to corn row
my hair while I read your stolen poems.
My scalp yanks and twists with no regret.