The Sex of Sex Chatter

Illogical Sounds

rebounding from red checkers:

lips,

as could they deserve the echo

of the sex of the sex and the sex.

It beats back the face

like so many purple veined

intrusions.

And no smile so broad and

hollow

has ever found so much to talk

about

in days of fire twister and hurricane.

It doesn’t seem to matter

which hole you’re using

as long as its full to the brim.

In solitary dream

psychotic musics play

Gorillas pause and ruminate

and all that is truly holy

is within reach.

If you want the horrors, you can

add those too,

but in a solitary dream

the reality there is unrepentant

salve.

Heaven holds no bones.

It could be a sea of blushing

thighs.

Unknown tangle of tongues.

Genitals

that would show up on a map.

Or some

that will never breach the 

howling moon.

It could be

the very moments of initial

flutter,

that cast our thoughts

into magma.

An elixir of lies

couldn’t comprehend the truth

of this white butterfly

hold in the wax.

And the great ships

of space or land or sea

would split into atoms

to match such timeless regalia

as a paper wing.

We keep trying and looking

with our edge in the voice.

The question of ‘this versus

that.’

Comparison.

When is a person

not a person?

Better yet

When does a person

Become one?

“It’s the moment that sex finally

completes us.”  She cackles

I knew the answer all along.

I feel so sorry.

I feel so god damn bad.