By D. R. Gayton
In the chain-gang hierarchy
Who is afraid of you?
Tugging along
From the extant monkey bone,
Fetters go on sale
Get them from paper to
Copper to silver to gold;
Mine are plastic hair
Like Barbie’s, in
Alligator leather
Muscled,
Tight fitted clothes,
Catholic galore
Strutted well, with
The condescending gaze
Pockets and looks
Stitched tightly into the
Throb of the
Fuck,
In the garden
Picking up a body
That will
Fit—
Insatiable from pole to pole
Through flaxen lights
Crossing bridges,
Boats,
Broadway, windows, and shows
Reek of alchemy, newts and toads
Since you are bend to prove
Glitter is as good as gold.
From Juvenilia (2016)
Gaytonia 