and she came upon a man who was a horse wearing a diaper and shit trailed down his leg and there was a pacifier in her mouth and a riding crop in her hand and she would steer him by choking him this way or that with her other hand and we were all amazed by how far he had come, his palms and knees pink and raw and scabbed over and over, and she took offense and beat him with the crop, flogging him left and right until angry welts arose from his flanks and we all stifled a nervous laughter.

i unbuckle my belt and slip it off. she watches. sitting on the edge of the bed, she waits for me to take my belt off and slip it around her neck. she waits and i hesitate. i’ve never done this before. she never wanted this before. we were all waiting. the room was impossibly hot. she takes my belt off tugging it out of the loops. i wait for her. i wait for her to come into the room and take off her robe. i place the rope around her neck. she splays her fingers against the pane as i tighten the belt. i watch. i untie her robe and pull it down to her elbows, not any further. i kneel in front of her. we’ve never done this before. i am waiting. she pushes me against the glass and kneels. she watches as i slip the belt around my neck. she laughs as i turn her over and tug on the robe. the sheet was impossibly cool.

and i ran my fingers over wood splinters sharp and remembered. not many, precious. here underneath the tongue, by the window where the blinds are thickened by seasons. i had the cord around my neck and my feet dangling from the sill. it was wonderful to see a sky free of everything. the promise of concrete cracked aside by persistent roots. to be the seam of the world, where her lips remember my name and my children slip in and out of the sun.

there are things, like sticky white rice, the kind that sticks to the roof of your palette, in between your gums, feverish things, like the sweat between her breasts, the gasp from her throat, the rake of her hand across your back, the taste of her deep, gleeful things, the lazy caressed leg, the spittle of a penis spent, the sound of her voice drifting into sleep

cunts and back talk, twist your dick into it, right up to the hilt, smash your balls into her chin, smash her knee into your throat, choke on it, spit and nipple, lips and ass, open her mouth, bleed into her, knock yourself out, break her spine, break yourself, break beyond being broken.

the lunatic spiral and its mad mad sweat, or sweet, or meat. hereto for art thou and some blessing of some such of words worthless and antiquated and feeble barely to be stood, or understood, or spoke often of, spake. watched and watchful, we are cracking at the seams of a oncoming youth crowding us into mortality.

father’s day, Sunday, any day, everyday, father’s day, for a lifetime, in any given minute, never free of it, never to relinquish it, this day, any day, father’s day, cherish it, cherish him, cherish the fact that you are.

days on end, this haunting, the hem of her skirt, she said, how do i look, black lily in her hair, and i said, you look like slutty corpse set aflame and she said, that isn’t funny, she had issues and i laughed, you think you’re the only one with mixed emotions, and she pushed me down onto the sofa and i smelled her hair and she kissed me then and everything was alright again until i woke up on the other side of the river in a basement studio apartment where the music was this constant static and the roaches crawled under everything.