2 Poems

Outside Art

Inside Sex World, it’s hot and mute. Amyl nitrate dumped on the cold floor singes the air. My eye wanders wildly, a god flaming within me wanting simply to stand shirtless in the sun, his twin bright eyes shining on the strong brown rippling Mississippi, a boat shooting from the shadows of the leaves under the bridge, a church group tossing gnawed bones into a tray, the emptiness of the experience of the experience. In dorm rooms across America, dumb and dumber hurt each other, limp lizards, faggot maggots, ugly slugs, the four forlorn flipped pill bugs of eye contact. Under anger, mother wept, there’s always fear. An albino catfish nudges a deep sea diver kicking open a chest of glittering treasure. In a meadow, behind gray rocks, a girl giggles, gluing purple sequins all over the clay bust of a baby, trying to fix images of man.  I believe I stink like a burrito. Orpheus in Haemus Reader, on your fake marble throne, are you even capable of empathy with one so downtrodden as he? Through the partition’s glory hole, he begs you to give him love or at least glance at his snapshot: in a red see-thru muumuu, his ex throbbed. He weeps the perfect poet must feel flawed. The masses will entrap this eunuch, tearing out his tongue, he cheerful, hearing from the flawed.

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