Tuesday, January 31, 2012

trying to have sex for other reasons

if i could relax in some corner of a foreign field
then only think of me this
my senses my tendrils my filaments
straight to the bone or not bone
my patriotism and not
my shaking when there
my wish to be other
a caribou a pure blue caribou
a hunter-gathered nut factory
oh god there we are all co-opted and sexed
and I am speechless in this
I keep running in from these waves
silent, saying nothing
all of my eyes shut and filled
with disaster
looking out
you you
have no right
trenches, the exact opposite

that's not what I mean


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