It is good to be neuter.
What's between your legs
is of no consequence.
Absolute void.
Like death.
Although I do want you,
don't get me wrong;
to hold fast to you,
even in vain; like
tide waves reaching up cliffs.
I write poems about myself
too often. I'd rather be Not.
It all goes away, afterwards.
I wanted to be touchable,
like a lover.
Isn't it time we see ourselves
as essentially silly
objects? Silly as sex,
which is enjoyable, and death,
which is not.
I love your arms--
so smooth & strong.
Will you pick me up,
carry me away
in the face of death?
Oh how like a dancer
you are! Rocking slow
to my eyes, because
everything is going--"little
spin, little drunk, little do, little oh, alas."
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