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 
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.