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INDUSTRY
I had an emotional bypass,
A valve job on my feelings.
Now I’m pure Teflon II.
Nothing sticks, nothing penetrates.
I have no reaction. Go ahead
Say something beyond description.
A white froth stays on my lips.
I am overcome by drugs generated in my glads.
Tears in my upholstery:
I’d like to give you something
Wonderful. I look for something
And go blind.
When these doors open
I expect love.
No reflection.
No models.
Sores in the heart
That won’t heal.
CLEAN LIVING
Dressed in fetish clothing
And hearing uncomfortably clearly.
I stretch a membrane of understanding
Across my eyes.
I will have no doubt the next time
I see your face.
I will find it easy to recognize the grace
Of misunderstanding you.
It will be like a perfectly sharpened
Knife.
My principles will fracture
Revealing all their petty foundations.
I will shake within the wall of language,
Waiting for a single pause where I might catch
My breath and identify my feeling
For you just this once.
There is no use.
I am smeared upon the words,
Barely able to buckle the straps
Around my body, barely able to attenuate
The vulnerable parts so they will gleam,
Terrifying, romantic in pure discourse.