Hands clap & I react with
non-surprise. Wholly has my heart
been identified

As the sole proprietor of my sin.
The sin of thinking what I think
concerning you.

Every pattern and every thought
has become a cloud of lust and impurity;
and my heart, a garden of desires.

But in this moment,
a pause, and reflection.

That time keeps us apart,
that fucking span of minutes and hours and fucking days.

Goddamned days.

A rift brings you closer to me,
and another. And another.

Until these texts add up
to something more substantial
than a kiss. More erotic

Than my imagination would.

Rift between audacity and love,
too great a silhouetted pearl
that I am thinking of; no more
meat upon bone. Just the fat.

Reduced by heat and monogamy.

And you reduce my throbbing headache
with your tongue as you transcribe your world
into short sound bytes.

And my ears beg for you.

They say, “blessed are the poor,”
but I say, “blessed am I to have you
for ten minutes to myself.”
And, “blessed is the cochlea and the drum.”
As I hear your hum.


Plan B.

Articulated emotional redundancy,
swarms of ecstasy threading their way
through the mire. And I
catch your hand in mine,
stroke your palm, and those perfect thumbs.

And dream of the kiss I am too afraid to grasp for.

The stakes,
my metaphor.

Negotiated peace treaty,
space heater, Charlie Brown’s
mystical getaway machine.
A spiritual encounter with aliens.


And in paralysis’ grip,
even though I can move my tongue;
I cannot feel your lips pressed against mine.
I cannot feel your hand in mine.
I cannot express the legitimacy of my desire;

Nor can I cross the line,
between your breath and mine.

Postmarked in Hell;
this isolationism concedes, my heart beats,
and every facet of my monogamy
clings to you.

The rings, “we do.”

An open wound,
a tiger lily; a frost-covered psychopath.

Here we are,
in the midst
of dreamers,
we lie. Naked
and exposed to the sun.

And I fondle your genitals
with my tongue.

An arousal made of intellectualisms;
catharsis, and heat in a Winter’s kiss.

I’m hanging onto this,
with full attention to every detail;
my mind and body are on fire;

Welcoming you home.

God and the devil are one.
The Father and the Son.

This is what they taught me
when I went to Catholic elementary school.
And thrust my cock inside her,
tripping out on mescaline.

And the Holy Spirit;
witness of who sent who.

The Void.

Repeater of the truth
inherent in ecstasy and sexual immorality,
burning up with passion and with flow of consciousness,
I bite my tongue until it would have bled
but words pour out instead.

Oh God,
in this bipedal hulking mass of degenerative miscalculation,
and the devil as one,
split into our own separate hell;

Please let me ring the bells of my concussive force,
pushing me ever into
languishing full force;

In keeping with tradition,

And hearing out the fullness of her gospel.

The clear cut division;
between where you and me
make love, and the frequency
of fire engines running through the darkened streets;

Cop car;
“stop where you are,”
drop the gun.

An illicit transistor
amniotic junk box
hertz clocks; sinusoidally progressing through
moistened earth.

Giving birth to
the realm of scientific religion.

Pagan gods lifted up
like heroes of the war,
conquering the minds and hearts of
causality’s reconstruction of the past.

My past.
My past with her,
my Roman holiday.
And I tear down every fucking wall
that belonged to her.

This shattered city,
I give you the keys to my kingdom.