WYB Outtakes 2


Bon Appetit

Would that you were closer
that we each could roll over
and beg to be petted, loved,
rubbed & flown over, above
what keeps us planted in dirt.
I don’t mean to call you a flirt.
I don’t mean to tell you OK.
I can’t think of what I can say.
The omens say Bon Appetit
omens are closer than meat.
What murmurs from Wicker
Park’s main street as we are
up semi-fucking at dawn, city
birds: they portend concrete. 



                                                      Fear-Dreary Philly

No little lame balloon-man
whistles far or wee, or even
has balloons. I sit near the
fan, feel like Dante's son
plucked by this city of
dreams into Hades. There's
no way this can be anything
but rote, my hip routine,
& even a fly's anus looks
more succulent. But, what
the fuck. I've got memories.
As I anticipate the wideness
of your limbs, quiet or not,
the shore I stand on is silent.




                                                      Goddess in the Stream


Diana: there she is.
I’m staggered. She
gestures to herself,
as if to say, look at
me, I’m nude, I’m
yours. I can’t just
turn away. I’m too
moved, too turned
on: stricken with
a surfeit of lust. So
I bolt towards her,
& she emerges onto
a bank, & says: woe
betide stags’ movies.