My friend loved just breathing in the bathhouse
with long meandering weave of thoughts while
a lonely man moaned lost into the linoleum.
I bought him earrings made of black lava stone.
One of my first Christmas
gifts and that was
not until I was 33. Small penises are
such tender thumbs. He wouldn't kiss me in the bar we were
regulars at and he's the gay one. I've given up
believing there is order to the world. We both want black
women and kids I experiment because that's
what exploring black men
are. An experiment in
how can a self-interest release in the degrees
between your mouth and a gun.
He loves black men. I leaning over him in Texas
watching the build of his joy. The only name I
have is experiment. And I just want
everyone to come, not by me necessarily but
I want to know about it. That everyone ruptures someday
build of the
disappearing this harsh view of a world. Sunday light
Unconscious. Toothy smile.
Never Talk About Your Pain or X
The wall around my face
is made of gorilla glass 4, west philly and walnut crown molding.
I had a detached retina installed
in the west wing when I was depressed. I am gloriously broken and soprano
honest chaos all my songs. None of them are yours but I love
the tilt of your head when they spring a picture of a play doe smashed clumsily
on to the Sunday funny pages. You are the gloriously asymmetric. A
stubborn weed broad treed unkept and animal. I am not a fan of landscaping.
I like armpit hair. I always show up undressed. My chest is full
and blushed every sentence. I am the smallest possible dense, the ant, man
and the dirt is where my riches lay. I want to be rich and mulched
into your childhood redwood base a millisecond of your tears angle. A tear in space time
is a small glitch where our lips lie and the lies are not small enough if you have to half it
half it in half and half of my rib and a half my things and half my brain
is yours but never