between midnight and forever
we're running to a black hell
on a night storm churning the sky
toward red flames and an epidemic

the cross tattooed on the
middle finger of your right hand burns
like swallowed gasoline over the chapped skin of my
red satin lips as you run it over. i taste salt
and blood and fear and lust and orgasm,
cigarette burn curling into my cheek as you light
up another marlboro and toss the match out the window.

dear christian boy, mr. jesus preacher,
is it sin if i think we can make it out of this

mercury's dusting yellow desert sand across the clouds, maybe
i would've taken a picture hadn't all the rolls been expired.
you drive funny, with one oil coated hand on the steering wheel
while the other scars its way up my thigh. you always liked it when i fight back…

goddamn it (don't please don't) stop touching me!
i thought you believed in six a.m. emotional abstinence—

look at me one more time through those girly lashes
i wish i had hiding the blind rage burning in the pits
of your eyes and i'll curl those fingers so tight around
the steering wheel you'll scream mary (i like mine bloody)
like screaming out our throats raw like those expert Stormchasers
did on the five p.m. news 67 days ago right before they died
will somehow help us run from the black splotches racing
behind our open eyelids.

fuck you and your little dog too and your tongue
humping the pulse at my throat and your teeth
sucking all the poison from your sticky spit stuck on
my sweat-stained sharkskin as if you were my very own vampire
back in a motel room where we didn't pay the bill,
forged a check from a bank account non-existent
like it even mattered if my parents found out
you stole their child and held them in a love riot
along the shore of sane to insanity—

'cause toto, we ain't in kansas anymore.