Saturday, January 25, 2014

Dreaming of Chinatown

I think that what I want is translucent dumplings which like
organs look like organs and do not seem strong but are very strong
and can sustain much and withhold much, also be consumed,
can be consumed

I think that what I want is a tenuous sound like those songs that
seem as if they are insinuating something, insinuating but never
arriving, a climax is cheap, a brief illegal download or
a free stream

I think that what I want is to fuck a greasy man, small but
consisting of muscles and flesh, tattoo of his cat on his arm,
a feminine man with a girlish smile and then
to walk downstairs and just slightly down the block for styrofoam tea with
condensed milk and

translucent dumplings,

and his hair almost wet with the oil of collected
booze nights, I will have fun and feel young.

I want maybe a really great massage but
I don’t want to have to reciprocate with sweet words or sex or
a fucking blowjob anymore,
I’ll just pay someone.

And I will laugh and
I will not care--

when I laugh in bed I always think, ha-ha,
I don’t have a care in the world,

but it’s not true, because I hold on to that laugh
like a raft, start thinking,
he is my whole world, oh his greasy
shoulders, oh his cat tattoos, his fantastic,
entrapping, girlish gestures, he is so funny the funniest
person I ever have known, he is my favorite person,
oh his salty oil smell, latent dust apartment--

Can I just pay someone, I will pay someone.

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