With Raven McCoy
She walks between pillars
of mild marble – pure veins
& upright [once a goddess
across my skin] – a temple
& a hall of blood’s vanities –
a fouling love-drudgery as
time ruled over experience
under her forking tongue –
shooting up has become a
thing beyond my knowing
of a sugar-sweet addiction
before bedtime for all men
taken in by quick chops of
nose powders – Frail drugs
pile her & men with thrusts
from underneath – pulping
of fiction’s first dance such
a cliché – her drug – her gig
to have me compete before
guests at Jack Rabbit Slim’s
Twist Contest – for thirteen+
years – You Never Can Tell – I
couldn’t twist through every
jive that followed – strangled
by self-centred stuff – From
that Tarantino-ness I recover
to state – I once overdosed –
but expect less [adrenaline &
a chest-jabbed-recovery – fix –
something she stuck in me] –
& handed down watches will
not clock all movement [now
I have passed it on – my son’s
inheritance of time code] – as
film is processed we will learn
too much about pulped plots
& Butch asks of us all to keep
underestimating you – Sleep
will cure us by a gun’s butting
across one’s face – I am tied &
frightened in a basement [as I
recall] – Butch put me down in
a previous scene – splatted – a
gimp-suited execution was all
I could bear – leather wasn’t a
gig on my list of wishes – Uma
Thurman played her part [but
my knottiness was Travolta’s]