"Loshn-Koydesh"
I'm told I'm a sorry excuse
for a fuck & I think,
slugger, at least I'm a fuck. Pussy's
melted gold
that has no mold to fit
its excess. Of late
I can avert
my eyes nowhere they won't
just need averting again.
So, how goes it?
How should
it go, this ossification
of live slut. My sky's
plugged in upside
down, I can't heaven. My
eyes for a dying tongue,
I can't die. These
are the grabasseries
that gum up my ears
while my mouth
is at the treyfah
factory, heard
distorted, but heard.
I'd like
the mojo
that leads
a goddess
to fling
a drink
in the face
of a man
but I just
pillow up
my lap,
say come tell mama,
sugar,
come.
Rax King is a bitch. She is the author of the collection 'The People's Elbow: Thirty Recitatives on Rape and Wrestling' (Ursus Americanus, 2018). Her work can also be found in Catapult, Electric Literature, and Autostraddle. Look out for her monthly column Store-Bought is Fine for hot takes about the Food Network.
Twitter: @RaxKingIsDead