The whole gay political primacy
of us all being on a beach, me
smaller than any of the others, but
muscular, wearing a tightly strung
up black bathing suit, butt flat out.
I am getting a headache from the sun,
lotions and sand and cigarette ash
are one thing to me. That Cornell
should appear in Neuromancer's
sequel; too much. This is the bathing
suit that I'm talking about. And my
penis sit in it here, glans pointing up.
Languor; the moist, damp, jungline
greens. Cutting through the plants
with a machete. Having brown skin,
black, even.
Throwing away the book, itself
composition of juxtaposed elements
and not just bone, lace, marble.
Effaced thing growing in the breech,
and the breech growing around it.
The book upended two feet distant
with beach sand inside of it's pages.
