Everything is such a big secret. Why can’t we just
play out in the open? There are such peculiar ideas
in the world. We should go to sleep with them all.
I remember curiosity. It strikes me like a pillow at
camp or a lazy massage therapist on my foot. I’m
embarrassed that you’re embarrassed and I don’t
understand this game of let’s not say too much or
else he’ll know what I’m saying. Do I do this?
It’s too much to hear. Do we sit in the drizzle til
the sun rises? I’m not even sure I have the date
correct but this is how I get my culture. Getting a
Brazilian, for example, is an act of poetry. It’s
a poem being unwritten. I’m not even sure if I
have the date correct. Apply the skin softener and
let the cat do all the work. I can’t remember a thing
but I’m sure I’m getting fucked somewhere.
