“You try to flatter me / but with the wrong kind of flattery, / ‘Are you the architect?’ / No, I’m the archetype, don’t even // bother trying, man…”

“In the secret grotto of deeply erotic, / poison-rooted, pussy-footed thoughts, bearded to the balls / like Whitman, forgive me if I sing / a song of my…”

“Loads of god blown like hot wads / into crumpled tissues by the twitching fistful / unburden souls of their servitude to a / hypothetical lord, to not…”

“Thinking about you today, for literary / purposes only, I don’t know that / my heart is a fitting place / for you to dwell, whether you / take…”

“imagining it’s your lips / and not my fist wrapped around / it today, that pleasure rips / and ripples with the metered / whipping, petered pawing, raw // rubbing…”