"angels love you then they go" excerpt from a reading June 2015 SFAQ Project Space

ANGELS LOVE U THEN THEY GO.

 

 

so I just say “boi, boi I want rug burns and fuck sores, I want you to do something to my face, I want bruises and handprints on my thighs, hey pretty boi, hey.”

 

and he says “I’ll hit you up.”

 

anymore the way people want to have sex but just on the surface and get up and cover up the object and return it to its place without any repercussion except the smallest expenditure where energy is lost and a little bit gathered up and maybe you get sleepy and relaxed

 

already we have virtual sex

 

what is this then we realized god was not coming and the night stretches on and on

and ecstasy is beyond us because we refuse the attendant emotion the tears and vulnerability- the tearing apart the tears and the tearing apart

 

let’s take it back. from its pretending at liberation, from sex in a void where nothing matters, momentary scratching at the surface, pleasure that passes and falls off, something wasteful

less significant than shitting

 

 

 

I want it back

so I say “hey I just painted my fingernails red, why don’t you come over and fuck me before I go…”

 

hey boi, we not your momma, we not your girl, we not your mamma girl

boi, let me turn you into every animal, all at once, dog, deer, owl, cat, fight fight fight me boi, fight me right up to the line and then beyond it where we can taste eachother sliding apart, stick your tongue in my asshole boi and let go my name.

let go my name, forget the story, forget the story

 

spin me

transubstantiate

my body

anointed with your grief

all flesh amid relics of sex so I tell you that there was a song in my body and you let it out- do you care

 

no one cares/ care is weak and makes us weak and in the dangerous void left in its place we have sex that is virtual

 

hey pretty boi I just want you to come sleep over and wake up sober and keep your dick hard and stick it up my ass and hold my tits and ride me while you bite my neck and shoulders

 

let me write you nasty poems

but first you gotta give me something to write about

you gotta come over and fuck me sober

with your dick hard

 

 

I don’t know names for this anymore

“I’ll hit you up”

what the fuck. where is this place?

 

 

that we go to

 

a twilight spell. an onerous livingroom

let me write you dirty love songs- let me teach you how to fuck

 ya’ll think you know already and its cool but you don’t.

 

you just don’t

and I not sure why

I cannot say

is it some millennial shit where you are afraid of your body- weird

ok, I start over and just forget I said that.

I won’t bother you

its cool.

 

Everything is vaporous now

now when it comes to touch and to bodies and to fucking and getting fucked

 

it barely goes inside.

it barely breaks the surface

skims skims

 

just a mostly vaporous thing

this might be why I don’t care

why you won’t love and why love won’t love

 

 

because its fog

it’s the fog that pours out of the freezer

its not even atmospheric

its synthetic and it belongs inside a room with fluorescent light and chemical smells

its freezer fog and it dissipates and there is nothing there.

 

its an empty room

did I say that

that it is an empty room

 

it is an empty room