I have left you
I broke up with
your tv-dinner conversations
and your come-hither tennis matches
all our past
is in the future

every egg-roll fortune
now on billboards
in Times Square
your tenth-grade philosophy
on music and self regard
has bored me
I fall down limp

your lust for hand puppets
and walks
through burned-out factories
leave me hungry and wanting
my own desire
for Andy Warhol soup

Kentucky fried
extra crispy around my lips
you on the line
spouting off something
about being sorry
I hang up
and bite into a thigh


4 thoughts on “Asunder

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