Endless Breast

I used to want to die
For many years
I thought that
was what art was
The wanting
Now I know
it is the being
I love old
stinky animals
Also fear them
Fear the stink
of how fundamentally
bounded and
precise we are
Still I put my face
very close up to
my own shit
Let me peer
into the mystery
of my shit
so I won’t
elude myself
and the waste
my body makes
and the waste
my body will be

There’s never been
a psychopath I haven’t
felt something for
Don’t kid yourself
If it meant the
preservation of the living
thing inside you
and the soothing
of the enormity
of its needs
you would have
turned away
from love too
Gather around
sweet psychopaths
Suckle my benevolent
and endless breast
I am ready
to move freely
inside elation
and trust that others
will see this
as an experience
of significance
I once masturbated
to the notion
of love being infinite
and this idea took
place in a meadow
of butterflies, cows
and tulips
The sun was
shining lightly
I felt safe because
I was cradled inside a
conceptual space
without perimeters
Large enough
to hold myself
and everyone else
My heart and legs
were spread wider
than any ocean
I was huge
I took you all
there with me
No one was frantic
Instead our joy
made us pungent
and we took
very seriously
our collective
enthusiasm
and believed in
the credibility
and solidity of
absolutely everything