“Astrea”

she plucked midgalactic trucker
rose tucked it into her
hair & did nails in white
slide guitar

I told her it’s obvious: void people
hunt models
she laughed and said she liked to lay
hunters
in beds
& kill them
smiling

I said it’s a lovely
profession

I would like to sexecute
literary agents
too
but I prefer to use my brain
for sheet paper

she told me I should use
it in bed, & turn it off
any other time cause it only bothers
latino dipped Sundays tripped bikes
& sci-fi novels
I should be writing
on Mondays
& music’s all sex
& fashion
anyway

I said my calendar is astral
it has no parsec weekends
Poles call Russian years
and Russians
polar nights
& I won’t wait for friends
who lost me
in time

O, remember White Death
& retreat to alcove
spread love
above
she said, &

Yes, you can call me Astrea,
have you actually
read it?