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1434
By Gordon Massman
My ideal mate craves overlapping litters, she wants in-
finite babies, to birth a nation, a race to march through
her like soldiers through muck, lily roots, and rot, she
gods fertility, ovaries, fallopians, umbilici, womb, en-
ough years do not exist to deliver masters and slaves,
shopkeepers and kings, taxpayers and governments,
window washer with his lunatic squeegee cleaning the
eyes of idiots, SWM demands insatiable thighs spread
like carps' mouths sucking down thick lightning, clot-
ted hollandaise teeming with chives, no hair color pre-
ference nor economic stream just the insanity to deliv-
er offspring through canal, trachea, anus, and heels,
desperately, oceanic, unfathomable, bottomless, fuck
feminism, the whole goddam petrified substratum, S-
WM wants sorghum field, sugar cane field, soggy rice
acreage to propagate a race on a hot birthing bed near
buckets and rags, slop if it be, consider Harleys super-
fluous as hikes in dead leaves, I want dirty toes, stick-
y chlorophyl, phosphorescent gel like heavy wet lan-
terns produced through coarse hair, procreativity like
a potter's lathe placed in my trust, you: bony, fat,
thrust, gigantic, petite, blunt fingered, pulled glass,
salt manikin, laughs at anything, mustachioed or eye-
browless, pedigree irrelevant; me: lobster man, per-
ambulate clicking, bubble brine, arched calcium car-
bonate spine. broad, muscular, curving forehead into
your sex like a gyrating metal band, unrelenting, sed-
entary or athletic, blonde/blue, auburn/green, pedicure
irrelevant so long as the soles of your feet face heaven.
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