said that men should marry women
with whom they could see having
a conversation with for the rest
of their lives. Fuck sex, fuck beauty,
only words, thoughts and wit.
More people should read Nietzsche.
want to fix you
or fuck you
I can’t be fixed
and I don’t care to be saved.
Mossy and thumping, bare of logic, red:
why do they say your other head
and not your other heart?
The snack cakes of Smut Wonderland
turn Alice smaller than her dress. She stirs,
nude in the folds of so much baby blue.
To think, they called this lesser art.
I ate mostly orders then, and you—
you were thinking with your other heart.
I took in a dog the way some might take in
a dress (I had become just skin).
It coughed. I cried for it
to stop, I fed it meat, its malady
recurrent and untreatable. I had
to give it up, like some bum body part
whose incidental benefit
the human form has out-evolved. Don’t start.
That dog: I called it Help, and I cried for it.
By the night’s end
Our friend had passed out across the room, having had his fill;
I yelled his name to be sure as you laughed into my breast.
You asked for me to suck your cock—I was pensive,
Hesitant with ignorance,
Though you taught a gentle method;
Soft gestures easing my struggles,
A kindness I felt undeserving
But was only your nature.
“An example of how it’s done,”
As you giggle, eager to turn, falling into me,
Then I you; a confession you had wished to feel.
I woke, some hours later,
Not to nakedness as I was accustomed,
But to you clothing my chest.
Music is not needed,
Through her breath
I find my rhythm.
I savor your taste
As you arrive in waves,
Peaking upon my lips
Then collapsing around my tongue.
The leaves rustle outside our window;
They, too, feel your presence.
There was something to be said
About not saying anything,
The quiet discussions
Only a kiss could have.
If only the words we spoke
Stole our breath
As the words we didn’t.
Sex is said
To be a huge selling point.
Come to think of it,
Any repetition of mammals
Makes for popular television.
There were five sexes on Tralfamadore, each of them performing a step necessary in the creation of a new individual. They looked identical to Billy—because their sex differences were all in the fourth dimension.
One of the biggest moral bombshells handed to Billy by the Tralfamadorians, incidentally had to do with sex on Earth. They said their flying-saucer crews had identified no fewer than seven sexes on Earth, each essential to reproduction. Again: Billy couldn’t possibly imagine what five of those seven sexes had to do with the making of a baby, since they were sexually active only in the fourth dimension.
The Tralfamadorians tried to give Billy clues that would help him imagine sex in the invisible dimension. They told him that there could be no Earthling babies without male homosexuals. There could be babies without female homosexuals. There couldn’t be babies without women over sixty-five years old. There could be babies without men over sixty-five. There couldn’t be babies without other babies who had lived an hour or less after birth. And so on.
It was gibberish to Billy.
“At some point you have to believe that the inadequacies of the words you use will be transcended by the faith with which you...