Poem : Train Scent

A train-scent is the scent left behind when you drag something on the ground to train a dog to follow the scent trail.

This is a poem about rough sex and apps and cruising in a bodega late at night.

Not that I know anything about that.

---

Train Scent

*
Those gray sweatpants — pink crop top sweatshirt
perfect rubber ball — your ass
is an orange to peel

You drop small gifts on the internet — a leaking
plastic bag on a walk from the bodega to your apartment
*
You send me a video you took with your phone underwater
the rippling — the hands outreached

Choking me — when you remember my name
I choke — swarm of dark olive green — pouring
bile into the floorboards
*
At the edge of the lake — after running for miles
over the endless curtain wall of dry leaves — yellow
a burning zoetrope you move across

There you become a man in sweats on a jog
you turn into the 1980s
*
There — you know the spot to hit
after being followed from store to door

A spot to drop clothes — pretenses — care
place to become roiling water in a pot on the stove
steam resting the itch in the back of the throat
*
On the tongue — scent of black pepper and body
sour within — wrapping — a shell of pinkness
sniffing around a penthouse for ass

You drop small gifts — across my clavicle
there an obvious scent an obvious color

Poem-A-Day #14 : Election Year Feels 2

Election Year Feels 2

America,
          you self-destructive ass

          The stage is empty
and the flags are limp          The corners collect confetti

Outside in the street there are probably protestors
          but the sounds are empty and static - breaking overhead

the sound of all the balloons popping

America, tell me what the concrete is for if not grinding faces to pulp
          Skin mixing with spit and cum

Is this how you like it? I'm not so sure - there is a hesitance behind your eyes
a sort of "if not now, then when?" hovering in the periphery of yourself

Like a windless parachute          you unopen and fill
with yourself

                    and fill with everything else too

Poem-A-Day #13 : Election Year Feels

Election Year Feels

America - you are always in a state of emergency

          You couldn't be more basic          You like
the masochism          I keep waiting for you to ask

for help tying that rope
                                  to hand you a lemon wedge