At night, belly open,
my bowels spill among the socks on the floor,
grey and glassy under lamplight through the window,
and spread, open,
I say take me, do it, work me over.
I am a wanton conduit,
I am a slut.
Spalding Gray said,
I have the feeling often that something
is waiting to reveal itself to me
the more open I get,
and I know it.
These things frighten me.
The past is a road of extant time
we write with wide arms,
and the future's a nothing, a bodiless thought.
History is the stone that doesn't go anywhere.
It is the golem with the Aleph in its mouth,
life is the golem with the Aleph in its mouth.
The universe has its fist up my ass,
and I take it,
because I am the golem with the Aleph in its mouth.
we are always at the end,
and I am waiting.