“i’m done with furries”


i.
i can’t dream your dreams,
but you’ve told me about them.

you wear an owl mask
shaped by fists and transgression;
a laceration splits your side
from a skin split
to your rib splits.

your love,
Bill Clinton or Donkey Kong
(whoever populates your thoughts),
crack your bare skin
until makeup
leaks out of your pores.

you dream of emulating art;
O hanging from a ceiling claw,
clicking heels against drywall
until leg muscles give up
and her diaphragm accordions close.

but who is your sculptor?
who is your artist?

ii.
alas, i am only
a paper mache bird.

i flinch when it rains,
i flinch when i move;
my paper skin
could cave in
from lip crack to *** crack.

(i hate
Inside Out.
but, i’ve only watched it once,
and i’ve been told
my eyes would adjust
on the second viewing.)

i dream of emulating art;
Marat in an ice bath,
tragedy and love and death
captured
without conflict.

but who is my muse?
who won’t break my bones?


iii.
you don’t know my dreams either,
but we could dream together.

two reveries in polyphony
of an owl and bird *******,
making love
before they
make art.

our love
is ******* weird;
a childhood seesaw
we’re trying to
find the perfect balance
to with our weight.

we dream different things;
**** fantasies and intimate kissing,
but that doesn’t matter.
at this point in two years,
we can see through each other.

i can’t make art without you.

you aren’t done with furries.

What came first, the fetishist or the web?
Hidden in plain view in the disconnected age
Or just invented by the collective minds of cyberspace?
Eccentrics with their last ditch attempt
Of being one of the widely accepted

Rule 34, the most enforced law
If it exists there is **** of it!
Trawling through the deviantart pages
A wild goose chase, finding the hidden artistic gem
Instead as the pages reach the end, I get lost in the crevices
Of the perverted human mind

Anthropomorphic wolves in the **** with muscles rippling
An artist self portait wearing a frilly terry *****
Cherished tv characters destroying their innocence
Tickled feet. Gigantic balloon men. Feline chicks with *****.
I feel nothing but frustration
Why is this **** often the most well drawn!?

I'm in that weird part of the internet
Like a carcrash you can't look away, it's fascinating
The victims brains all over the road
If you can crawl under the blockades, you get a show
Always the most skilled painters find themselves crushed and trapped
Their pervy hands craft detailed, brilliant master pieces
Of their own image as a ***** snake, being ravaged by rackoons and meerkats??