Washington owned people, our first president—a fuckin cherry chopper.
“I beg the reader to be aware of the
fact that words, in and by themselves,
have no reality, except in terms of the
context in which they are used, in
terms of the intentions and the
character of the one who uses them.”
[I] With all person and confidence, will be gradations—
grey the matter and see what don’t come
[Look] through these corrective characters:
[Respondent] [Complainant] [The Panel]
[I’m] reading for the third ear, for pudding’s proof
(or the roofie)
Not sure if there is “No”
If she liked it
Conditions are digitally-stimulated weather
Rain fronts, no
Goose honk low, yes
Sunshine not for a long while, clit nonverbally expressed
Stacked on the side of mackerel skies, sexual practices and history
She liked it. It
They doing It.
Don’t be It:
7/11 is a game of 7 kisses, 11 humps if the boy catches you
In the corner where red bricks make the inside of an arrow’s head
A room of one’s own, where a bed is made on the alleged date—they snuggled—and an incident as white as an elephant or
A girl with desire,
“Once the idea has appeared in his mental screen he decides to act accordingly, not necessarily because the woman attracts him particularly or because his sexual need is so intense, but because of the compulsive need to act out what even he has conceived as a wish.”
How dare she
Oh, dear, she
This is not the first time their organs met—Respondent’s penis was able to reach her clitoris
Major or minor?—in fact, it was physically slapped
From below, complain not from your cinched sutured skull
[The Panel] We are here because of No and previous Yeses, which
have made all succeeding Nos into Maybes, into Unseen, into Meeting
the Needs of The One Who Has the Prevailing Institution By His
Side—Jessica Kennedy’s email!
Can The Panel afford this no?
How ruby is that kitty in the rape kit?
How switchblade and constable was he?
Complainant has a bit of dried cum, well-spoken
Respondent has a repeatedly supportive snake, not an Offense Number 5
There are no innocents, and We, with all confidence, are out no cents
We are fucked kin
“How could it be otherwise in a system whose basic principle is that production is directed by the interest in maximal profit and not by the interest in maximal usefulness for human beings?”
The Art of Being, Erich Fromm. pp 11, 13, 28