or a Ferris Wheel, rising over the body’s harbour, fuck me star
struck & glittery & dumb.
Fuck me for breakfast.
Fuck me like the apple tree in bloom, the yard filled with petals.
Fuck me like the mail woman delivering a hundred acceptance letters
that say: We love your work & want to publish you in every issue
for the rest of your life & put your picture on the cover
of TV Guide like Oprah & send you on talk shows
to answer questions like “why do you think
all the really GREAT poets commit suicide?”
Fuck me weeping & wet, shifting & sanguine, rouged and
religious.
Fuck me for dinner.
Fuck me holy, wearing rosaries, singing to Yoruban deities.
Fuck me laid back like reading
the New York Sunday Times sipping coffee, after fucking
all night.
Fuck me like licking the spoon.
Fuck me like this poem almost rhymes.
Fuck me raucus & raging, dripping like Pollack with paint.
Fuck me so I remember
those two slow children I saw playing checkers:
How the one touched the other on the cheek & said, You win.
Fuck me that tender.
Fuck me perennial. Yes, fuck me perennial, millennial. Fuck me
like you’re mental. Fuck me sentimental.
Fuck me like a Lincoln Continental, pimped out, slow & low.
Fuck me with sequins & sangria.
Fuck me homeless & heartbroken, shape-shifted & celebrated.
Fuck me like the rain washing us clean.
Fuck me like all those fucked up Giant cartoons in the
Thanksgiving day parade bobbing in a strong wind.
Fuck me like how the President fucks us all & doesn’t even kiss.
Fuck me with mangoes in your mouth, let the pulp slip sticky
between our tongues,
for the neighbors downstairs are arguing again.
Fuck me so loud & hard & full of joy perhaps they will hear
& remember the shape of their two bodies & its sober song.
On the first day of this astonished world.
Fuck me like being born.
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