Eyes behind the ass he asks?

I depress on purpose, on myself
and do it well but this is yours,
whoever who knows this too. Onto it,
now it’s dark out, darker than your comfort
as you sweat in the cold blowing like whales,
ask me not and neither tell
and as you make water for clothes you also
notice something. One or two things strange.
Beyond how the face tics as it talks, beyond
how you wonder to pick at its acne, how noses
could touch that nose to nose but must,
there is what walks as you walk away from it.
Two tall trees lead up to those legs,
feed the cocos, feed the brilliance that sits
on the chest you’d have if you were brave enough
to allow your body be the chair, and rather than
sit on it stands on, the careful ass pulls on
the taut of its muscles who stretch
along your hands now as you unplant them
from their roots, uplift them on your shoulders.
Like monkeys pulling ass it sits with its fat
like candlewax on your back and despite that
you watch its decline as it relaxes
and good brother you hold and climax on it.
To put it simpler than survival,
I say this is how we respire, like this
seat I made for him, the lovely orca I’ll feed.
Just a tad, Tad, as you twitch.


~ by Jeremy on January 14, 2011.

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