My baby buffalo ate a chainsaw,
he needs pedialite,a good shaking.
It is grey and thin out.
New England college aesthetic
stilling the path inside me, like anywhere
was splitting open, like when an energy you used to hone
zips elsewhere. What a turd
is attachment and loss. They start
seeing someone else and its over, you know,
in string theory a crumbled corn cake
can be surgery, cum on an eyelid,
or a super nova. What the other is like
is like so 1955, open 24 hours,
a death halo inhaling the sacred canister
of you, like a nerve-damaged krill
on a baleen spoon.
Copyright © James Grinwis. White Whale Review, issue 5.1