and these are my demands:

I don’t want to know about any backrooms of undercooked loves,
the last thing I need to see is a happy couple,
only page me with a 911
if you want to get a drink,
don’t even look in my direction
if you’re not gonna give up some leg —love is something I don’t need
anymore…
promise that moonlit windswept moments
with passion everlasting
are not going to occur
because I know these things end fast
tell me that sex is a fuck
remind me that I could lose 5
…maybe 10…
maybe 15
minutes of your precious time
be straight with me
point out that we’re both obnoxious humans
and you’re a mile high bitch
and I love my jazz more than I love you
and beer makes me happy
pay attention to me when I tell you
I’m the greatest motherfucker that ever was
and no one can top me
and you ain’t seen nothin’ yet
the shit I got cookin’
knock your panties off and make you come
and then tell me about that brown spot
by my eye
and the sun in its freezing sky
how mutts can be inconsiderate bastards
full of gas
and I’ll suck my glass nipple
consume the nectars of langour
point out that Jesus needed pussy,
too,
and you’ll scream
and throw things at me
and songs will end
and we’ll have to sit
with our slow march towards death
and wait
and see
that at least we had conversation.