More Poetic Correspondence

When I read what you wrote, I thought I’d make poetry of it, try to be as honest as possible. I just started scribbling down a lot. This work is a lot of lust, as much as it is spiritual, for I believe what we all need is a true religion, and the true religion is WHOLE, it encompasses all of you. There is no shame in it, though there may be horror or even sometimes despair. There is almost always a bit of doubt. Slowly, wherever we are, we find our gods or our not-gods, and figure out what it is we bow down to, and how to do it.

1.

i used to be beautiful

i used to be sure of delighting you with the pleasure of my company,

there was a place where I shone like the morning stars before walls

and doors and bars became my new world

and now I’m sorry to discomfort you with the reality of me,

the anxiety of me, the inconvenience of my lack of freedom,

and you say, well, “you know, metaphorically none of us is free, and you see,

metaphorically we all have bars…”

and these references to the bible disturb me a little bit as I masturbate more and more everyday to the new faces of straight men who harass like high school over again

but if jesus came to make us free, he came to make us sexually free

and if he rose on the third day, then I’ll rise up in my hand and know this stiff pleasure, make of the face of my enemy a mouth to spill inside of.

Isn’t that a miracle?

And you say, I guess it is, metaphorically, and metaphorically,

none of us is free, and I say, fuck your metaphors.

2.

I used to be beautiful, I used to be sure of delighting you with the pleasure of my company, There was a place where I shone like the morning stars before walls and doors and bars became my new world. I set out to be remembered, and there was a time when you adored me and now, like the desolate city, here I am, no longer worthy of your wisdom.

I no longer wish to look in mirrors. And all my days are half dreams

I was thirty five when I realized that what did not kill you could make you weaker,

could bend you and twist you like a car wreck.

One cold night, out of northern darkness, a frozen poet sang to me,   

“No matter how dark it may seem,

the light is always present,

one way or another.”

s u n e l i o

You came, you didn’t even have much personality,

 just a long dick that hardly fit my mouth.

I couldn’t get it all in, no matter how hard I tried.

And you plowed me

I lied and said I could take it,

Then eyes watering made the lie true

While you

Plowed me at 4 o’clock in the morning while

your jealous boyfriend watched until he let his displeasure

be known,

and so you had to go home. And so you went home,

And yet, for three days I sang, walking up and down the street cause

I could still feel you aching in my asshole,

and three years later, your jealous boyfriend frowns,

knowing I feel you still

f i n d   s o m e b o d y

life is so hard and people are faithless

find somebody to fuck you

people are strangers and hearts are cold

you better find somebody to fuck you

the world is to cold to go it alone

and life is to long to feel like a stone

you better find a man who can make you moan

love is beautiful, love is sweet

love is an elusive dream

its never really what it seems

there’s one thing I love best

its when you put my body to the test

you gotta find somebody to fuck you

you gotta find somebody to fuck you

hard

i n   t h e   n i g h t

when you wake in the middle of the night remember me.

I went to bed early, knowing this would happen, and half way

wanting it too,

halfway wanting to come to the land between dreams when

the world is not awake and a moon the size of jesus’s fingernail hangs

in a black judas heaven beside a burning star.

This is the silence of imagination, the habitation of the tiny tips of candles,

Loneliness happens here tonight, the balm of sleep or

the curse of staring at walls

Time like taffy happens here tonight.

Poems happen here tonight,

And inspiration happens here tonight,

death happens if the timing’s right,

orgasms,

two men biting back lust as they run their fingers up and down

each others backs

The water parts here tonight

And by 4 a m leaves no traces.