My Autism Has a Mighty Appetite


My Autism Has a Mighty Appetite

Have you seen my autism?

It all started
when I was born.

Worse yet, it started
on the taxpayer dime

In the bathwater, in the atmosphere, even 

in the baby
if a baby 

can get tall enough for college.
It’s true, I am autism

But only when you ask 

My autism is gentle, yet growing

Like Medusa, my autism 
is something you maybe 

shouldn’t see, 

but if you do, you should
write a book about.

Someone told me

if a flower opens 
wide enough

it just becomes a backwards

Sanded teeth become new teeth, 
renarrated to points. 

With enough training, I’m sure

I can make a point  
myself, I can

settle on a sex
for this my waspish swarm.

Be whatever gentle in

tends itself to mean, 
though I’ve been nouns

that would kill you

I am autism, if you’re

willing. Autism, 
if you’re down —

Gentle, I’m a horny orchid

to pest control.

This autism’s so long
it’s forgotten

how to stop.

When I taste blood

my mouth don’t see it
as a bad thing. 

See, every night I affront the mirror 
w/ sordid tales of glorified

So ask me: Does all my narrow 
make this teeth look fat? 


I don’t know 

about you, but I was born in the wrong
episteime. My contrite gums 
are cherry, jaw fusty.

&thus my slutty canines make lust
to the sound of tribbing

&thus I have cavities in my
cavities and also many
unofficial holes.

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