you can read?

But,

don't think much more of the words slipping off my tongue,
commanding you to please...
it was a momentary/addiction
always a body 2 body persuasion
anti-emotion
anti-commotion
anti-explosion
steady boy, every-body needs their fix


But,


you've been reading me like an assigned novel--by memorizing
characters all in play
plot to a time
themes jumping out from the crevices of your mind
denouement who?
who?
steady boy, i play like french ain't my game
while reading you reading me reading my name
as you put your piano hands to mr. big...
ahhhhh,
no-one's shaming you
ahhhhh


But,


you can read?
sexual healing?
nah.
sexual/emotional/spiritual connect-some-dots?
nah.
sexual pleasure?
your extra sense did you wrong


But,

i'll entertain your paranoia
not because i'm better...i mean bitter


But,

because i am tired of being sung

Concrete Boys

Immediately vacant when clarity arrives.

Plucking compulsively at the emotive.

Concrete Boys Know the Difference between Difference as if Difference Where Never Linked to Sameness...

Cryp/tic/tic...ticking like BIG ben

(PROGRESSIVELY LESS CLEAR)

Ma'

Oye Luna (a letter of devoted thinking),

Something's hiding. It isn't the last bit of hope, running out of Pandora's box. It isn't the betrayal played by Judas. It isn't the mouse, hurrying to a hole. The trap is chasing her. It isn't the overly psychotic, living in the borderline patient. It isn't constipation of the ass. It isn't even the real rhetoric spewed by the politicians. It is the little boy of 29 years late. He is still in love with ma'. You see, ma' had a problem: she lived for love through her son. No little boy can fill that void. Luna, what of the little boy of 29 years...late, and the ma' who loves life more than living to love the little boy? I daresay that even when ma' brings nipple to lip, the little boy will be too jilted to suck. Who is this ma' now? We shouldn't have to replace her, name her over and over again, or do without intimacy.