Privilege

I want to float in a pool
of my own semen
and feel very lustrous
like a sticky pearl
in that Sylvia Plath poem
about...

… living your worst life?

I’d love my sperm—
I’d train them
like the dolphins on TV.

Make love!
Make love!

Have sperm pregnancies
and sperm babies—
blow spunk-scented bubbles.

I want my pool to become an ocean
a brine of endless birth…

… I don’t want to be alone.

Shut Up

…………………….……..is there a prayer

………..for performing mundanities

…………………………so as to accomplish

………….……their opposite

……………….…...the warm yellow globes

……………………………….of fried egg

…………………I ate to feel

…………………………my hunger expand

……………..like a clear balloon

………………………….licked the child

……..…of a flightless bird

……………………………..o cursed angel

………..o shit-caked feathers

……………………………word as desire

……………...space an absolution

…………………when Rilke wrote of God

……………time died by the page

……………………………and isn’t that sin

……….thought in preservation

……………………….the slipping yolk

……………......more alive

……………………….tepid yellow stream

….……I’ve tried to articulate

……………....................................silent

……………………..…heaven speech

Below Me

I quit everything
by smoking

on the balcony.
Diet Pepsi

and motorcycle
magazines,

a microkini
tying my bones.

Angelina’s
tattoo suggests

deprivation
and desire

are ride or dies—
Parmenides

suggests truth is
permanent.

Dexedrine,
obedient beauty,

a low-calorie
alternative

for excess.
Below me,

the lawn bursts:
dandelions,

oxeye daisies,
silver dollars, etc…