I'd like to live, live like the rain.
And fall when needs,
pour it all out to show,
my spirit will flow and drop,
I'm blue and clear to the core,
I rest like the night with a spirit flowing so freely through it,
free like rain.
Water drip to show my intention towards this earth,
show me how to flow like rain.
I'm clear I'm clear but full,
I'm blue, I'm blue but so red.

There's a fire its burning inside of me,
I'd like to show you but I can't, it would burn you.
No excuses I know but I can't, I can't hurt you,
and I I don't want to lose what I've lost before.
But in my loss I've gained something more,
and that is all I really need.
So let me be free, and fall like rain.

Gender is not a tangible object
It is not something concrete
Which can be held like a hand
Or felt between your fingers
So why do we give it such
Hard edges and boundaries?
Aren’t the things we imagine
Meant to be limitless?
If in our minds we can fly
Or have infinite money
Then why is gender
Some moronic made-up concept
To go along with our genitals
So rigidly defined?
My biological *** may be connected to my junk
But my gender is not
It is not there for doctors to examine
For its’ health or girth
You cannot unzip my pants
Or the thoughts in my mind
To find my gender
Get that through your ******* head

“every man wants to be a tyrant when he fornicates"— marquis de sade (philosophy in the boudoir)
in murky region of my mind flickers shanty town of wickedness and all who burn betray me are tortured murdered buried on outskirts of this moot province not entirely devoted to revenge shadows dart lascivious exchanges shadow economy back alley shenanigans soundproof rooms filled with hunger for beautiful women sole source of my arousal female lust japanese silk braided ropes bowls hoses drop-clothes vibrating toys anticipating mischievous acts town’s folk love esteem me applaud my fiercest turpitude fathers offer their daughters mothers perfume girls with wild flowers in their hair whispering accommodating instructions ultimately i decline their generous offerings opting instead for steadfast soul confidante accomplice closer in age she knows how to mommy my genitals get me off and i the same for her churning simmering caldron of desires dazzling aromas through center of town runs sacred blue river constantly replenishing innocence upon dust filth criminality also many enchanting bridges connecting dark side to bright side in elegant rundown art museum hang several of my paintings next to jackson ******* ad reinhardt anselm kiefer gerhard richter albert pinkham ryder francisco goya susan rothenberg and public library shelves brim with volumes of my writings next to james joyce william faulkner sophocles sylvia plath rainer maria rilke milan kundera franz kafka gabriel garcia marquez thomas bernhard patrick suskind  pablo neruda oriana fallaci annie proulx lydia davis during mornings everyone busies themselves making things practicing yoga swimming cooking friends gather for lunch munch comically gossip about previous night’s dramas in afternoon go back to their interests at sunset all citizenry come together look to west watch fiery orange globe sink beyond purple mountains wonder reflect sniff their fingers as night falls on little village each goes about deciding what to wear then meet for cocktails in local taverns and commotion begins

I sketched a faceless man today
I put more details in his hands than I ever could in his eyes

I drew a faceless woman today
forward facing
I put more details on the muscles of her back
than I ever could her nose

I painted a faceless child today
I put more details on his body
than I ever could his lips

I painted faceless beings today
all hollowed out alone
my art teacher looked at me like i was a little disturbed
I could not explain to him that the hollow of her cheekbone
will have more meaning
than the color of her eyes
or the voluptuousness of her lips
and that the strain in her shoulders
will show
and that man will have more meaning in the creases
of his palms
than I could ever put on the lines of his face
And all I could think of was
How that faceless woman had a **** good
***

there are no more
reasons or distractions
no understanding
or logical strings of words

all the excuses you gave
for brushing your teeth
ten times a day
become useless

let them see
the holes you’ve
carved into your soul

the mirror was always
cruel, as you counted
brush-strokes