another one for class

Explicit

Poetry is not obscene enough for our story.

Verse is not raw enough when sordid fairy-tales are cut

out of oily history.
I’m the story of fingers plunging into slick depths,
of violent kisses and bites that draw blood.
Depraved evening—craves a hard response.
Hot and wasted in allies–gravel and ash mouth and dirty hands.
We drink too much to rhyme couplets
And I can’t be bothered to talk about the scenery.