Passing the Bowel Line

by

Darren Lauzon

Once I arrogantly believed that lying here like this
on hot sand with the oily and darkened heliocentric
required a sleight of consciousness equal to lobotomy,
needed the 'heil' salute to heat and sex and potential
for sex, needed the rhetoric of fumbling surf.

Now I am burning and meditating on Burroughs
and the potential for melanoma and what burrows
beneath my coccyx in the sand, what god it supposes
me to be and I notice your breathing is now joined
to the rhythm of my own.

First I'm aware that you sleep; then I'm aware that
you dream, that your unconscious has taken its turn
at free speech, and I can tell that the video presentation
is pretty slick, yet some part of you heckles from the floor;
sweetheart you mumble so sweetly in your sleep.

Love? Is this what your soul's assessment of me
no longer feeds? Has it packed me hard and tanned
into the queue? I could so easily interrupt this nightmare
by grabbing some part of you, clutching tightly to avoid
passing as waste into the sea.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Long Life
by: John William McGrath III
from: Mesa, AZ, US

To visit all of Darren Lauzon's poems, click HERE

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