Jake Byrne

SATURDAY NIGHT’S ALRIGHT FOR FISTING

Whatever I did to deserve
The Phantom of the Opera earwormed
On my commute to work
I renounce. Locust bean pods
Rot underfoot. Soggy cigarette
Butts
Curtain Of cleansing rains
Streetlights: full moon
In pavement puddles
Trying to consecrate the images in time
From the weekend at the bathhouse So sing for me
Angel of music + memory ;)
Ed said he wasn’t on the path he saw for himself at thirty
The path in which a muscled boy named Ed with cum gutters
The sort of blue eyes Many people would die for if not me
Gives me the time of the day
Gives me his cock Forcefully into my uvula
That’s not the path I saw for myself either
And the price I pay for it is dear. For someone whose
Early life was organized around Unrequited desire, now that I can
Reach out my desire and Be met on its terms by its object
My brain is screaming
Can’t you see? I am unlovable—
Unfuckable—
Mounting my asshole on a plinth Throngs of men An arc of lightning
Chaining through our navels Chemicals singing Coloratura in our bodies
This is the desire that others us But unites us secure in our desires
One multitude, one purpose
The games we play the straight world cannot credit for
They do not understand what it means
To walk the forking path. How old were you
When you first realized that time
Was just a shadow on a wall
How long have I sat vigil at the altar of the god who comes
To promise all the experience a human life can bear
His only requirement that you surrender yourself utterly to him
Naked, oiled with sweat, drunk on maenads wine
All the witches in the corner disassociating
The hole Without me that leads within
The way the world enters it By force
The way I give it up to it
The agape of my all brothers at the orgy
The love of god Threatening To Kool-Aid Man the blasted world
And rip right thru All its precious painted backdrops