It occurred to me this morning that I am someone’s orgasm.
All the gods have left because they no longer make sense.
But, there is light except in the back of the throat.
Drunk is easy to do
with its slow motion notions
(I’m afloat on a lagoon of balloons.)
But, coming to isn’t like cumming
and more like an unwanted birth.
In the beginning there was flesh
a sketch at best.
But, I think it’s better to be a stone
or a dog in heat
than buried by a tyranny of memory.
To maintain buoyancy is all there is.