C.J.


What was it you wanted to say?
I thought at first the time had come for action,
that thought had put you down to paper
just by definition, like as if thought
were plain as stone, kickable like reality.
But no, it took much damned effort to steady you
to the happy heartache of a thing thinging itself to death
in a desert of sloppy seconds.

Who says I am not my sister?
Man you tell me that I am a man and God wouldn’t deny it
but maybe he’d beg the question a bit.
Who says I can’t make you here and now out of nothing?
Who says your feet wouldn’t speak if you would let them?
Who says your penis doesn’t have a name for you?

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