I sit and patiently receive your
curveballs with my ungloved hand.
It hurts me as much as herpes. Yes,
I let you smother me with this sad
wetness. Yet the first drop is never
the same as the last drip. Like how
one stranger is the same as another
yet not the same. How a mother isn’t
the same as a Mother. Now I open
my upper and lower mouths and
all the fish I’ve released come home.
Here, I drift in the current
like a raft in a storm. Down the shaft
like a pecking-bird drinking water.
Craft yet another circular line that’s
never quite a circle, but always leads
back to itself. Always ends in you.
Like a finger buckled over itself –
pointless. I bend over backwards
until I can kiss my own asshole.
I’ve become that fucking fountain
in your god-damned garden,
endlessly filling itself with itself.
my submission to the #astrologyseries on SPWM