a young woman kisses passionately,
a young man and woman kiss,
a young man tries to kiss a young woman’s
cheek.
photographs of women in bikini bottoms with their
arms covering their bare breasts hang
on an office wall.
a young man bare-chested and
another man is bare-chested.
a young woman’s top gets soaked
the outline of her nipples.
women are shown in bikini tops and shorts,
the sides of their breasts, bare
midriffs, backs and legs.
a young woman is shown in outfits that expose her
cleavage, bare abdomen and legs (mini-skirts, tight tops and hip huggers).
a young man and woman flirt.
a young man flexes says
“big change,”
a man remarks
“raging hormones,”
women are interviewed and make remarks
about Spider-Man’s physique.
enjoy it
seeing it and experiencing
it are
not enough
i am american
when I see what you
have
created
i really want
to
buy it
by C.P.Harrison
a window where a child can watch the birds
a cat plays with a bunch of strings
at once
she doesn’t feel fake or feel like a fraud
because she thinks she’s God
tried to watch a documentary film, Shakespeare Behind Bars,
got 8 minutes in Caliban describes how at 9 years old his Tshirt was torn while being molested by the older boys in the
neighborhood.
When he got home his alcoholic old man calls him a lying punk and asks if he knows how much he had to pay for that Tshirt.
Within a year the old man is raping him on a regular basis.
Within 2 years his mother is.
Caliban sits in his cell and shares everything,
no blah blah blah scenarios,
none of those.
I couldn’t watch
I feel guilty for not finishing the film
that’s as much as I can share.
With enough time, a hypothetical monkey
typing at random could re-present
the Hindu text The Bhagavad Gita
so why haven’t they done it yet? they have no reason to.
There are only humans on twitter,
deep space is not for artist,
and while chimps are only 1% genetically different
the new pope is still
nothing but a hopeless money pit in the sky
new scrolling neon letters, grace a new sign at the Korean Church of Jesus and Good God or whatever
because apparently, in North Austin, between the tattoo shops, the Filipino grocery and the elementary
Christ is losing ground.
autumn leaves to the right
sharp pains running up the throat
they’re both my rag dolls,
my battles, still here
just dying substantially
less than I
would be without
his shadow near
she crosses
her leg across my lap
sipping pinot noir silence
for a minute
we share slow sexy-y glances
“they don’t even care,
they don’t know, don’t notice…
they love you, that’s all
a dog doesn’t give a shit
if you only have
one arm.”
is she talking about
me?
if you
no longer
feel the need
to hate yourself,
i can
