I’m turning my pity party into a purge party and
all my exes are invited—
dearest darlings, serenade me at 
my silly little slumber party starring a bunch 
of queer gals with one(1) Emma™ in common—
what could possibly go wrong?

I do not like you, Duncan King,
old fart lord of everything—
I will smite you with a pox
stick you in a wooden box

is a polarizing, stepped-on chicken patty in a bun,
breaded flatworm of nostalgia

Restless and ready as ever for my night’s walk
to his pleasurable lap. You would think by now,
his Antarctic heart would adapt
to the burning zeal of my wandering hands.

A string of tinsel killed my cat.
My grandma was to blame.