From Birb Teeth
Sycophants beepin for semen and I don't know what's good for me.
Do I need looks lusts or fucks taste or trace me spatially?
I'm six-foot-five on my size paper.
Do I look at my ass as I lace my shoe?
Does hirsute describe me or us two?
My body's condition is follow you.
I am nude and need the bees and need the bees inside me
and I don't want to. Be the Ribes body, I don't want
to. Eat the parts of me I conjure, I don't want to.
Eat the fruit which holds my seed.
Eat the birds between my knees, they pull
my curling pubic leaves. Impregnate me. Please
strangle me. Shit parts of me
I dreamt Kathy Acker.
I dreamt run.
I dreamt I'm an actor inside my skin,
I bound the locks by himing again.
I dreamt antipodes.
I dreamt obfuscations.
I dreamt of a way to adumbrate men,
to brim my detention, and a way to skim skin.
I've writ a bit about my dick,
I know my body's fracture. Bone
on bone, I have no home. My body,
brindle, froze in snow. The future of my body's
bone is bone is bone inside the nose.
The future of my body's bone is several
bones wrapped in mud.
My body is a spindle bone.
My body is a stature.
Damon Potter lives in San Francisco. Other poems can be found in Elderly.