lentejuela-oscura-2
j u e l a
oscura
zine
2
f.u.c.k
poetry
is this poem?
is this poem?
is this p o e t r y?
fuck poetry or poetry to fuck to
1.
from the muck
two came to fuck
gyrating organs
against organs
against currents
against the moon
in the night
pulling the pelvis
into the pelvic
moving like elvis
on pills
on stage
butting like rams
nothing but rams
but there is nothing
to brag about
in the dissonant
clamouring of the
seasons fighting for
supremacy
and it is useless
to argue in which
season the universe
was born anyway.
2.
orgone or I am
gone or
the orgastic
potency penetrates
or he wrote
“it is not just
to fuck …
it is the real
experience of
the loss of the
ego,
of your whole
spiritual self” :: w.r. if you know you are
or
as she said
listen, little man,
I didn’t drive
all this way
just to fuck
il n'y a pas de
rapport sexuel :: loose lacanon
when writing
writing with the
phallus
one must keep
in mind that
reading is a
yonic practice
and that every
conversation
is lustful
every letter
sensual
and seduction
is a poorly
played hand
in poker
and the body
is an apparatus
just to tell the
temperature
and brunt
the storm.
3.
retired desiring
machines
clunk along
abandoned streets
and
on doctors tables
where he asks
“you trying to
tell me my ass
isn’t a wolf?” ::d&g if you come with me
neutered little
puppy
teeny-tiny
puppy
puppets the
outrage at
the unification
of the
eunuchs
and their
march up
your mother’s
ass
and the
surreptitiousness
of the tiptoeing
of her liking it
of her crawling
in the dark
of a womb
like her own
just as itchy
just as warm
for we must
all return to
the cave
so we might
discover which
reality is
more real
in the simulacrum
of mothers
sanctum
or of the walls
we see before
ourselves that
serve best as a
hurdle into
the next bed.
4.
expect the explicit
the punctuation
point
the prick
the pockmark
on the page
devoid of meaning
but providing
the right
circumstance
the right
situation
giving meaning
in the meeting
of the i and its
dot
of the hanging
of the
dot dot dot
at the end
of a sentence
the sudden stop.
5.
the alphabet
is lethargy
sleepy little
i’s and tiresome
u’s and
all the energy
put into the
arrangements
in their infancy
in their fancy
attire
all gussied up
and ready to
dance with us
and the way they
become the words
we use
at some tired
bar to drag
some//body
some apparatus
home to pleasure
to please
what can’t be pleased
to desire
desire
in the boredom
of the bedroom
to mistake
lust for love
and love for lust
to write poetry
fucking poetry
fuck poetry
or poetry
to fuck to.