a flip-flop song

perhaps we create you and me
to make life more bearable
but who are you? who am I?
we don’t even see each other again
did you see the new shade on my lids?
and I didn’t witness a hair coming
it’s all random pictures
you look awful with hair, I tell you,
your pony tail is not sexy
but you never listen
I know I make you happy
like yesterday
when we called each other by our
diminutive (some genitalia) names
have I told you you write better
when you’re happy? and I – I,
contribute to that?
at other times we fight
we bleed, we hide the blood,
we annoy each other less,
but say countless of “shoot,” “shit,”
“fuck,” and “stupid”
and more and more desperate
poems are produced, re-produced,
discarded, and wept over
we become agnostic of each other

I don’t remember your smell – I mean
your true smell, because you dab perfume
over your sweaty body
over the smell of another woman’s sex
on your body — all of those
go all the way into my
intestines

I’m sure you’ve forgotten the pain
of me pulling the hair in your arm
I’m sure you’ve vomited me

and I read you reply:
Agnes, shut your fuckin mouth up!

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