On a molecular level, we are fucked.
Perpetually, repeatedly, renewably. Fucked.
The world is an unceasing orgy, everything
touches everything, nonstop fondling
and hymnal friction between pulsing meshes.
Your very breath is a shore leave sailor and kissing cousin,
a polygamist engaged in measureless trysts.
Affairs to remember, affairs to forget,
it doesn’t matter, it is.
Everything touches everything.
Graffiti on ice caps, tear-mapped children
waking weeping to motherless lands,
my breath mirroring a net
for your breath to snare.
We etch in the air,
our fingernails growing glassy vines of light.
Eternity not a noun or prefix or afterword.
Eternity the borderless bed spread out to host
the everywhere everyall clusterfuck.
You are at the heart of sheerest orgy,
a seed pitched in the crotch of its panting nexus.
Whether you like it or not. Deal.
John Biscello 