Hungry to rub against a tree

I'm a necromantic. The rituals can be quite ellaborate.

I love black lace, wands and goats, have no time to waste

on people who spit in the face of a homosexual. I enjoy a Scandinavian

with gapped teeth and spend Fridays lying in fields

with goats, their ringed horns curved towards the moon like clits

calling up and out: hungry to rub against a tree. I have a soft spot

for cows. Their dumb eyes glaze over like mine & I wonder where they go.

I smell nice. I want longer hair and someone who spells correctly, someone

as warm as a black sheep in a barn.

I'm random. I want pigs to fly.I am for the alone and lonely. I love creases in the face and dead black women who sang or needed to.