Poems, thoughts, and the occasional sexy story.
“Isn’t it just so awesome, Chandler? Topanga said hi to me!” We’re both named after streets? “Why do I talk to you anyway? Whitsett will love this story!”
The phone stays belligerently still as I remember saying nothing.
The well she stands behind is called Love. Her job is to scream each time a fool gets close, a brutal, wicked scream that scatters birds. The wise, she makes no noise. They pass on their way, carrying water.
I asked three times
for this affliction to be taken from me.
“But it’s your brain,” God said.
Fuck! I guess I need that.
The ebb and force of sway, waves of time pull forward, push back; a swell of belted Romans, America's blue-suited crash. Which is why it's important to build a boat for my heart.
Listening for remnants — ear to plaster, voices carry — muffed then past far too quickly. (Dude, I don’t think she’s finished. But you are.)
I should write something, here from this perch above the city. But what? Walking up 14th, I saw a guy shooting heroin between his toes. He'll be dead soon. And then the perfect couple modeling their perfect lululemon exercising their perfect dogs — already dead.
What turned me into a whore, you ask? Courage. I said yes to need.
They told me what an orgasm was. They showed me how it worked. Lots of effort went into its making, and you needed something close-by, a rag or sock (for the cleanup). But it felt good, so good, and so I said yes, and yes, and YES! and began the road to Bliss. They told me what sex was for, what its end and purpose. They showed me lots of playful children. They seemed to run everywhere, and you had to keep an eye on them (loud little shits). But since I was once a child, and had some happy memories, I said okay, that sounds about right. Okay. They told me what my life was for. They talked in terms of sacrifice. Honor. “All gave some, but some gave all.” And tears slipped out of their eyes. So, looking at the soldier’s head-stone, it seemed right to forget myself, settle the debt I’d somehow incurred. But then I rode an hour-long orgasm, waited amazed for my bliss to subside, didn’t need a rag, produced no children, and thought something they didn’t teach me: No.
You can take yours home — and yours, too. No offense, but I don't like what I see at all. You bend the wrong way; your adulation, adoration skews everything — and by such a band of old, an army of ugly well-past skill — I can't stand it! Send in, please, those convex faces; laugh at my smallness as you mock my gaze. I demand broad frames that diminish and belittle, that show with a smirk my world and leave me wanting more.
