Perforated edge of the paper airplane
cut me like sixteen poems written
by sixteen sixteen-year-olds
you were on the ledge leering
at the kids peering into the room
I was combing my hair looking like a dude
I was taking a selfie looking so rude
looking like a what-what pop-a-collar
puffed up like a puffin, crip-walking
like a penguin looking so rude
puffed up like a puffin so sanguine
we were out of this cosmos watching
Cosmo Kramer and Elaine dancing
like two teenagers with aspirin
whisper in my ear like a fly landing
on my ear, like a gas pump pumping
gas into my ear. So electric.
Come babysit me, let me sit, baby.
Dock of the bay, baby.
I’m a maniac mechanic with antics
you were dusting the furniture
when I wasn’t looking like an inferno
burn me down to a crisp jelly center
you’re my donut-what-the-fuck?!
Let me giddy-up rodeo ho-ho
Santa come to town to
burn this bitch down.
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