tombs, sister, you’ve got lithic tombs for hips
one chimney stack where a bbq pit should be
you say that I’m in janitor drag this year:   as last
do these tits go with these shoulders?  why ask me?
those talons you cultivate I do admire
the cochineal cheeks the flirty lashes
I don’t want to live in a clutch purse town
you snap:   and yet everything matches
-- D.A. Powell, clutch and pumps