Amoral Impurity
Picking at ingrown
pubes on the porch swing
in the sun on the first
summery day of May
and the dogs reach up to lick
my cooch. This is not
the first time today I’ve pushed
a face away from my pussy.
Animals don’t care
about social propriety or man-
made morality. I’m not advocating
for beastiality. One summer
I went to a stranger’s apartment
to fuck and his dog
kept eating my ass.
I was laughing too hard
to push it away, its tongue
so wet and long. I promise
I didn’t enjoy it
or cum that night. They say
dogs are so pure
but I once hugged a man
and his 75-pound pit
mounted me, nearly knocking
me over. I thought she was going in
for a hug or to dance. She humped me
and moaned drool. And then
my sorrow. Time and time again
what I trust to be wholesome
never is: an ear to listen,
an extended hand.
Always reaching.
Who’s the pure one now.
Congenital Insensitivity
Like a baby ripping out
its own eyeballs, chewing
off its tongue, like that comic
of the dog drinking coffee
at a table and smiling
as the room around him
erupts in flame: This is fine,
my mind welcomed
the heat,
the same way how,
after a long day,
a body welcomes
a shower that scorches
the skin red
when I asked her
how to slice my skin
safely, how sharp
the knife, or pin
or blade, the pressure
to place, how not to faint,
and weighed, aloud, risk
against desire. I measure
the humor
of every situation
based on its consequence.
So after I answer
the phone at midnight and deny
them my address, then answer
the knock at dawn, and after
the officer greets me,
and after he leaves,
and after the dean calls,
when she reaches out,
and I think to say,
well then, as we all know:
snitches get stitches
I smile instead,
biting my tongue till the iron soothes.
Blur
after C.D. Wright’s “Floating Trees”
in another day of cleansing shadows
the tub recedes from the wall
the wall mourns
its decaying caulk
day of worn skin
day breaks into a long
sigh, bemoaning
the drapes of light
the drain swallows the tub
the tub aches for the window
at the window a cactus thrives
the night wraps its long legs
around the window’s edges
the tub peers over its edge
the moon lights the tub’s view
until morning rises to meet night
in another tale my tiptoe love
in another night not a tap leaks
