poem || donna kuhn

when your unborn comes back

i don't know u but your baby clothes are all that matters
so go get felt and fret; so you're sitting at a table with
a lot of women and we are women and someone more

i don't like people; what do u do for a living?
the dark lay eggs, your baby clothes are in
my name: pps. if u can't be divided, what
happens in this stupid town?

i don't know where i am, i don't really like u
magazines are munching; i don't really
like people around, what matters? love,
art supplies; meet in a tight spot

fall if u don't like people, who has money
who has money, who has money? what 
do u do for a living? u act and frost your
pores

who is in the bedroom? i'm a loud mouth
i love someone no matter what u see
a stomach virus that eats and crawls

give up, we are art supplies, take care
just take care and have fun; he is not
my idea of entertainment, what u don't
see, then u curb, what u need

what u don't know, your hands
i know about the eight spot but
i don't know about u 

i'm a little maniac; who has money when
your unborn comes back, tiny bugs out 
of a poem