intellectual delinquency

we wish to burn

The Platonic Blow by WH Auden

bschwartz:

I found this the other day. You’re welcome. 


And here he was sitting beside me, legs apart.
I could bear it no longer. I touched the inside of his thigh.
His reply was to move closer. I trembled. My heart
Thumped and jumped as my fingers went to his fly.

I opened a gap in the flap. I went in there.
I sought for a slit in the gripper shorts that had charge
Of the basket I asked for. I came to warm flesh then to hair,
I went on. I found what I hoped. I groped. It was large.

He responded to my fondling in a charming, disarming way:
Without a word he unbuckled his belt while I felt
And lolled back, stretching his legs. His pants fell away.
Carefully drawing it out, I beheld what I held.

The circumcised head was a work of mastercraft,
With perfectly beveled rim of unusual weight
And the friendliest red. Even relaxed, the shaft
Was of noble dimensions with the wrinkles that indicate

Singular powers of extension. For a second or two,
It lay there inert then suddenly stirred in my hand,
Then paused as if frightened or doubtful of what to do,
And then with a violent jerk began to expand.

Read More

This happened.


voicemailpoems:

voicemailpoems:

Kelly Schirmann called us from Portland, OR.

HOLY OBJECTS AND OR SHRINES

my letter to you was a mouth
& I want it propped open

I imagine you under
the planet I am under
so we have something to discuss

where your lovers went
when they discovered their aliveness still intact
is none of my business

I am under oath
to not sound so strange

when I feel strange
I put on black & start to whisper

when I speak
I am watching the sky
so it sounds like crying

I can’t seem to focus
without essential oils
or my hand on your aura

once during a bad winter
I indexed cloud formations
until everything once more resembled
a great tattoo

I proclaimed this booth of ours
a winter booth
& you, mine

I felt for your knee in the booth
& looked for something significant

feathers are found in the street
with startling regularity
& this helps me immensely

god said turn around
but it was a cruel joke

good one, god, I said
but the sun didn’t set

when the moon came around
I confused it with our planet
& felt burned

when I couldn’t help being in love with you
I walked down a long road
with a stick of dynamite

I wore a cheap dress
I imagined you complimenting

we can talk about the sun
now,
I said
but nothing happened

just ghosts of me
loving my body
& not knowing anything else


1-910-703-POEM


from House: ‘this is the first voicemail poem i ever heard and i still can’t get over it.’

[during the month of june, House is tweeting about his favorite posts using the hashtag #redial. join him. because he’s a QT. also, call us.]


voicemailpoems:

voicemailpoems:

Kelly Schirmann called us from Portland, OR.

HOLY OBJECTS AND OR SHRINES

my letter to you was a mouth
& I want it propped open

I imagine you under
the planet I am under
so we have something to discuss

where your lovers went
when they discovered their aliveness still intact
is none of my business

I am under oath
to not sound so strange

when I feel strange
I put on black & start to whisper

when I speak
I am watching the sky
so it sounds like crying

I can’t seem to focus
without essential oils
or my hand on your aura

once during a bad winter
I indexed cloud formations
until everything once more resembled
a great tattoo

I proclaimed this booth of ours
a winter booth
& you, mine

I felt for your knee in the booth
& looked for something significant

feathers are found in the street
with startling regularity
& this helps me immensely

god said turn around
but it was a cruel joke

good one, god, I said
but the sun didn’t set

when the moon came around
I confused it with our planet
& felt burned

when I couldn’t help being in love with you
I walked down a long road
with a stick of dynamite

I wore a cheap dress
I imagined you complimenting

we can talk about the sun
now,
I said
but nothing happened

just ghosts of me
loving my body
& not knowing anything else


1-910-703-POEM


from House: ‘this is the first voicemail poem i ever heard and i still can’t get over it.’

[during the month of june, House is tweeting about his favorite posts using the hashtag #redial. join him. because he’s a QT. also, call us.]