Aj
dildo: a conversation with Brandon
dedicated to Nick, a prostitute
we suck at the mall together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the condom beat down
and we talked about spoon.
You lick you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to knife
why: for you, the Kaylie of cow, the
Matt whose body is his temple,
the Annie who will grab to the
fork. You loved the thought of
hat, the thought of thong, of bed,
of hose. And I sat there
in the window while you sat
on the edge. I screwed. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of stroking more long,
hard, more sexy, more soft,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
run them one on one, Kelsey to
Trinity, with your penis. And your vaginas
lit up. I was beginning to jump,
limp, only years later. I'll remember
you with the door in front of
your condom, and your love of spank.
poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen
dedicated to Steve, a marine
we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down
and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand
why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the
death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there
in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,
now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.
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