BoySlut

outside of Princeton, IL

Dead butterfly

Green summer interstate

A thousand curses sputtered

For our bankrupt dreams

and sun-burnt left arms

 

so far from home

budgeting waves against the levy wall

counting cars who won’t stop for us

we’ll settle in to the dirty bank

and wait for rebirth

 

if Chicago asks for me

tell her I’m out of gas

 

 

what can i say?

it’s not the taste i’m after

it’s the warmth

-in the back of the neck

dropping one after another

 

-across the room

it’s not the ass that gets me

it’s not the tits

and it’s not the skin

it’s the eyes

-burning magnifying-glass holes

-little sunflowers exploding in milk bowls

 

dropping one after another

what can I say?

old

habits

die

hard

 

 

3 long months

walking home from the Darwin’s after last call

i see this couple at the fountain in front of the government building

they’re tossing quarter after quarter

and not speaking a word

the woman with a bump in her jacket

the man with his arm around her shoulder

 

i try to think their thoughts

but all I can come up with

is how the ripples in the water

look a little like the condoms in my pocket

-the ones i won’t be using

and when you really think about it

 

 

For Maria Jose

sometimes there’s a hunger in silence

that empties you of breath

and keeps you from screaming

like a forest of falling trees

 

sometimes between us

lies a hideous dead beast

stealing our embraces

and rotting with our lost

time