everyone is making fun

of the plastic necklace

that looks like semen

dripping down the sternum

but what if that’s exactly

what makes it my taste

money stuffed in coatpockets

cali sober pajama-maxxing

stars all different depths

silence gets laid before i do

the bible speaks only of

spice beds and a servant

girl, not a locket like

in A Little Princess but

with everybody’s heads

cut off by the heart shape

not a semen necklace

meant to mimic frozen water

i fear i am the target demographic

every tobacco box of astonishment

stares at before it runs out

i fear the word of the lord

narrowed me to a single filament

of cold hard punchable

polyurethane and no one gets it

except maybe the makers

of the semen necklace

who are still out there

like the truth or the boonies

oh the horror, what an honor

to cum on the semen necklace

cash-in to cash-in, trust to trust

double the pot, bet the bomb

on a sure front, to your hunger’s fill

to the asteroid belt and back

stack reality back onto the image

of itself and then tell me

which is which