Oh the monotonous meanness of his lust ..
It's the injustice ... he is so unjust–
whiskey-blind, swaggering home at five.
My only thought
is
how to keep alive.
What makes him tick? Each night now I tie
ten dollars and his car key to my thigh . .
Gored by the climacteric of his want
he stalls above me like an elephant.
