k is especially's blog
untitled
Afflicted little boy,
your roots refuse to grow
in asphyxiated silt and sand.
Little boys shouldn't play
with toys made for
big girls,
or pink hearts
made of the finest limoges
Ed Gein
Things were bad from the start Eddie,
but then your tether was cut
like skin from a corpse.
Mother told you they were whores.
Plain fields
endless, cold Wisconsin nights
