Untitled (Subtle)
I do not lament the polemics that result from a clash of two extremes
Home is both a place and a practice
Home is, of course, a disciplinary mechanism.
Love that vertigo when you’ve run out of feelings & start recycling old ones
My screen protector is definitely the dirtiest part of my body
Once enough kin energy is stored you give it away.
Sext: to convert a song to 432Hz alter its pitch by -.1774
Exact moments before Payne writes Common Sense the silence gains color
The subtler violence of one is in the negative space of the other.
poetry press release for unrealized show (“The Last Airdancer”)
Foucault definitely loved gloryholes
His bathroom stall scribbles were always illegible
One part of governance is erotics
The erotics of boredom and anxiety
No-one wants negative critique at their opening
How you fog up the mirror just to finger your name onto it
This lube only works on social justice warriors
Your sneakers light up when you’re racist
The constant light guides you
So Europe can continue
Here in its tendrils where you stole nothing
Not even nothing
You can’t even imagine giving it back
Nihilists don’t realize it doesn’t matter that nothing matters
But I have an empathy gap toward white people
And under gender coloniality
The state itself gets latched onto the genital Everything subsumed into holes and pricks This American pornographic Victorianism
Like those Gustonish Lee Lozano tool paintings
Closing your eyes is not the beginning of theory
Some say everyone dreams of fucking the dictator In reality sex is completely illegal
The only kinks are sneeze fetishes and minions
But the only way to say I love you is with fisting
A lie is not only a lie
Trump’s micropenis does not absolve you
Your performative divestment is escapism
I come to you with dreams of a cleaner kind of valve
A value without value
Dick like bonsai
No ghost ever sold away her iPod
We let our stomachs get all full of plastic
White emo band says blood is the last ocean
Foucault rushes in, fresh out the shower
In his bathrobe like on the cover of a book
His bullet head, tweed face
My beard flush with his kisses
Home is not only a disciplinary mechanism, he says
Would you ever order a Real Doll of yourself?
If I Could Vote, I’d Vote for Cardi B
Our lady of those bags full of other bags
my mom always keeps under the sink back home
Help me be patient with the cave mayonnaise
The demon in my inner ear
tells me that a lack of hell is robotic
She reminds me to celebrate...
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