A palette with a bunch of
humps. A beanie of silk
atop each of the humps.
Atop the palette – a make
shift mattress – there are
two men lying. Soon they
are writhing through the
humps with silk beanies,
all one hundred of them
(100 humps, 100 beanies)
the caps sewn together in
the manner of a 100-bos
omed bra worn as a slinky
dress that’s showing lots
of skin. This is the kind
of sex with styrofoam
that drives you back
into my memory, the
one I built a wall around
just in case this might
eventually be attempted.
I keep at these things
as everyone else keeps
finding new ways for
me to disappear.
