P. G. McNabb


You make hysteria great again
And I’m too close to my mother.

Baby, let’s not talk about it; let’s pretend

My dick is always working
Your ass is always twerking and

We make love

All night long – the way they do
In novels I fall deeper

Every day in love with

The start. We abdicated time
By ghoulishly glutting the marrow

Of all the choice we sacrificed.

I think I knew you in a past life;
We must have met in the camps

Only to burn again

With terrible concentration
On what we need to do

To make this work.