- Vol. 08
- Chapter 04
Brush my Pig
preternatural; I've pig'd out
I'm pooled-up, glassy eyes —
claw'd DMT in my tail saying: I love you
with all my geometry; and you can
brush my pig whenever you want;
furred like quivery butter; nose'd and eye
face-pressed into each other — you speak in kites
and I reply in diamonds; the text-drip bubblegum
and our blue-red yīnyáng;
the non-symmetry our hoof'ing — like I'm near
you're nearer — we're in the same room;
but the hearts are all coming out oval
and if I oink'd too honestly
you'd stop brushing.