Category: Poetry Publisher: March Street Press
Copyright: 2005
a literary exploration of the suckiness of men
Apart – Of the World
Do you feel the same nest of wasps
when you kiss me
that I feel being kissed –
falling into nothing,
then buzzing back to life;
the same little death
when you throw me onto the bed
that I feel when I am thrown –
floating down to a planet
of crumbling rock and no atmosphere?
Or are you simply a plant
who turns towards the sun?
They are all mating in the grass –
billions of eggs hatching
in the warm black dirt.
And I am as dry as a lunar river,
where no tadpole, crab,
or chick will ever hatch.
But I am pulled by the same wet
marsh song of bugs rubbing legs –
wondering if, for me, it’s just sacred
masturbation, or an elaborate handshake
to touch the center of your being.
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