art history

paintings of leda and the swan kinda make me want
to fuck a bird
those normal ass women with normal ass bodies
make me appreciate that my skin folds and that
my pussy tastes different every day of the month
and I keep wanting to starve my thighs off yet even a bird would fuck
a big-thighed woman

don't look to a man to tell you you're real remember all men
are people and women myths
wait for a
godswan to make you feel human because it takes fucking Zeus to realize
it's okay to not be velvet curtains or the earth herself
but rather
someone whose pussy tastes bad sometimes

Chanda

Heat is real where you are
No running from building to building
sweating with sweaters tucked under arm
prepared for artificial arctic

Infestation is real where you are
We called maintenance last month
Not paying this much a year
to see a cockroach in the cupboard

Work is real where you are
It's hard for me to make myself
do this work I signed up to do
because Future, but

You smile
embroidery beautiful yet so hard to come by
And I,
I live in a world where we whiten our teeth.

i want to feel like my hand's a part of me again

i wanted to push past the surface but

no not as much as i could try

you can't break a body
you see there simply is nothing
there it never stops
going in and coming
out the other end

that's no body i can't find
the line to divide us at all

catastrophic desire a tragedy
only if you see no answer possible
in all your years of searching

if i take it far enough i start
to see myself pattern you
your head bends forward and
maybe for a second i could

impulses

i have no patience for whenever you decide to tour again so maybe i should just go to chico this weekend i think that's my best plan of action because i could never have anticipated myself suddenly veering in this direction like your van that i hear keeps breaking down

i can easily tolerate a moderate amount of pain anywhere from an hour to a 6-month period.

and I kinda like pain

more than most people

even the kinds of pain

that aren't physical.

and I like scars

and cigarette burns

and grown out roots.

whatever they told you about sadomasochism in your fucking human sexuality or introduction to literary theory class was complete and utter bullshit. you can't write about real pain that way and it doesn't belong in a dictionary. sometimes it will come in waves and you have to accept the tides of your sadist, whether it is the self or an other. sometimes it will sting more than you are comfortable with but you have to resist the urge to slide those syllables over your teeth because it gets better; and soon you discover a parallel realm of sensation. it complements and contrasts the simple, mechanical joy of sex. It requires more and less artistry. it hurts bad. then good. then bad. you have to accept it until you say the code word. my code word is 'cinderella.' maybe you don't say your code word out loud. maybe you swallow it until you're dying. maybe it feels better that way--to not give up. to come or die trying? the pain is immeasurable and your nurse's laminated card has no place here. now get the damn rope.

and do with me what you will.

Urbanism I

when sought, the city recedes
to hemi-rainbows in some shattered glass
blows away like a crush of deadleaf

over asphalt the sun
finds a sullen intensity
take your goddam light
got your wave and particle
right here

every street is this street
every city a Phoenix
all people are the dour woman checking baggage
who does not look at your face