Freestyle.

Pinch a petal,
a pinch of ground beef.

Eat raw meat like
our ancestors once did.

Lie in moldy, goldy grass,
rank enough to draw flies,
dank as the spores
in our bellies.

Be held until midnight,
and fuck like that
sometimes—

glass to ass,
cool and smooth,
subtle like that.

'Cause I may not know
an honest day's work,
but I know what I like.