We’re a set of two, the credits a blip. I do all the acting you do the rest: lights, camera, consolations. Are we rolling? Are we on fire now? Make sure your cam’s in the mood to keep me alive. I’m waiting for the signal, the concession for all of you to fetch your heart from the pawnshop. You say the wait’s a journey of…

I. We are made for these clothes to affirm the wind — the fabric flap the mimicry of mayas. This is the blow or billow the punch or the thief possessing us processing us rip -pling the viscous lake that is our cheeks until we’re stretched. Trace the wind to…

The sky has never looked so cheap before — — telephone lines hanging like the snagged threads of your lover’s shirt. Moon the shape of a fingernail pinch & stars that glitter in discount; no wonder we can look at it; no wonder every lover can claim the stars as yours, they exist for nursery rhymes and wishes decayed & to be celestial is but a ticket turned to you if you can clasp your hands & make yourself vulnerable to every possible

spit crusts on the roofs of my mouth like cum, tongue barby-barred to roll confessions, the syllables locked so silence blooms a lower language, like light leaks like lesions, lessons limned from locker rooms, like livers licked to lasting, loopholes lucky and lymphnodes loopy like lip-larks, and labradoodles, like love lumbered looking, limping.

I have come to tell you that the ducks have claimed the baptismal room nuns in knee skirts and their coarse prayers: blessed are the pornstars blessed is the mother whose belly is discolored and swells with a storm. The body of Christ must have a chocolate filling there are kids here, Father. The blood of Christ is reserved for 11 pm, there are homophobic titos here, Father. A boy asks the congregation for holy water there are no toilet papers.

I. There are three things I am not allowed to tell you. First, that the pages in the book are robbed from the past. I do not own them. But there is no one there. I hear the dead with their undead lawyers suing me for copyright theft. Second, see…

There are millions of us here tonight. Like here-here, on this seemingly-eternally-stretching intestine line, tight in the walls of each other’s flesh, breathing each other’s breaths, salty in the sprinkle of sweat, walking, with leg strains, without rest, unafraid of the end, kind of excited! You know, fear is the…