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Click hereI am not afraid of the cones of light,
they make depth of field effortless
I resent being referred to as the far
~north east~
w/bare balls held by your
warm hand, your left
a fetish of left hands
rooms full of left hands
grasping testicals
a wind passed object-floating
is the only way to describe
my horizontal behavior
movement from left to write
I want to fall in there
but, of course I can't
without your wink and nod
I need holding
bad
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,000 poems.
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