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 nicely. My autism is gentle, yet growing carnivorous. 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 flower. 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 instantly. I am autism, if you’re willing. Autism, if you’re down — Gentle, I’m a horny orchid impervious 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 flossing. 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 paradigms. &thus I have cavities in my cavities and also many unofficial holes.