…& then the erotic self begun. The pink parts shut-up in the eternal & the jealous. Obsidian unfurls its wet petals. Composure divine, as a crown of snakes’ synchronized uncoiling witnesses the male animal become marble. In bed: Amaranthine. Midnight’s moaning music sweeps. Slaves become diplomats. Apple pie drooling its spiced sap. Blue jeans caked in the muds made of lynched sons’ piss. Keep it. If fucking is like the founding of an empire, let us fuck like we are the patient American bison, lumbering towards hysterical extinction, from the Rockies to the eastern seaboard, ecstatic & grieving at once that we have run out of country over which to drag our vulgar bellies.