Danielle Pafunda
from The Desire Spectrum is Dead to Me Now



Which of these things do you want to put your mouth on?

Petroleum wedding cake, wire hanger,

plate three: a silicone stopgap.


This is a stick-up.  This is an insomnia drill. 

There are ex-lovers in the room;

they turn on whale song before you can stop them

and call the vagina a spider-shed shell.


They love nature.


During the weeping, I squint at my watch.

I tap its face.  Tilt wrist to ear.  Listen.


There are birds at the window.  Or roaches.

There is a pit in which worms

have grown as thick as my wrist.


You can’t drive here.  The roads are slick

with it. 


In the genital shack, I find cocks

that look exactly like cocks I’ve found on men.


Everything is perfect.


Everything note is pitching.