there is no one to blame
or to be, but with you

i would put just about anything
in my mouth

and check my watch, in tears,
enamored with the coming load funneled
through a thin canal

i love it, as one suppliant

there’s no harm in the shit stains or the choking drool
that bring me limping closer to you

christ asunder, christ into pieces
christ in sperm whose tails wag feverish
christ in an egg who feigns to wait
in a chant to impregnate me

the passion but an exercise, disappointed in my tongue
to please you, all the while
irked deep down by the need to be useful,
skittish with big open eyes and a retreating tail

to present some new little thing
old as time, some chalice, some sign
whose very buoyancy of spirit must necessarily be imagined

the old uterus broken and forged new, unused
anonymous as gun shots in a darkened movie theater

until i find myself giving birth in a bathtub
anarchic body bearing down angry as the water darkens
as her head emerges purple and choked

she will put just about anything
in her mouth

i’ll regret the scrawling i’ve done, chastise myself for every
foolish errand, remember being on the floor crawling at you
mouth open for another one

there is no one to blame
or to be, but with you

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