Thursday, 20 April 2017


Some men like to take a beautiful girl and hide her
from the world. Some fools believe in towers.

Well, if you really believe my long hair’s your ladder,
I guess you’ve never seen my tights.

If you’re crawling up anything, it’s to the glory hole.
If you sever your feet on the way, I don’t mind.

Whisper it: my cunt’s the Hadron collider. My knickers
faster than the speed of light in Switzerland.

Last night we found negative matter. We posed
the thought experiment. We didn’t mind.

The tower came down.

Some men don’t understand what it means to say
her body is an axe. These men are slivers of glass

you won’t see until they’re stuck in the flesh
of your foot. Then, ladders don’t matter anymore.

Listen: you can be the lightning or you can be
the people falling. You can make her tiny

or you can both be storm clouds, rumblestruck
and kabanging. What would you rather?

Are you under the tablecloth yet, or all the crystal
glasses still standing?

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