i'm not good enough for this conversation

the lights are low

and i've begun speaking.

i'm sorry. your lips

wrapped thin around

the tiny straw in your

amber drink

as you stare up at me

from your phone.

i am enamored with your look.

the way your dress falls

around your hips like a

cascade of honey. how your

perfect nails clack against the

table when you get to a

heated point in your speech.

please mount me like a

five point buck head

hung in a musty den.

your eyes are pity

or i design them that way

in my memory.

the sluggish beams of

precise language

bouncing off your

woman armor.

all women are eggs

and all men are sperm

which is why we keep

bashing our heads in

to get inside you.

bring me a brick wall, baby.

alas, all these words

and i’ve atrophied the ones

that unlock your legs.

the ones that light haloes

i’ve thrown in the trash

like every other good thing.

all i have are video games

and dungeons & dragons.

you'll know i'm depressed

because that's when i buy

pringles. ranch flavor.

this is me, a sack of meat

wrapped in clearance rack.

if you like rambling

incoherent thoughts about

the dismal state of

theatre—i’m your man.

your eyes scan the room.

for who? for who.