Dominant Pig
Dominant Pig I was asked how to sustain homoerotic sex without falling into intentional eruptions which involve dominance. I answered with a single letter: I let my mouth open a heavenly poppy. The poppy opened without anyone touching its petals. These poppy fields, pig styles my blood, gave in to intentions with stipulated traits. That is how they exhausted lead skies, and their four Asian walls, their nylon dresses. The eruptions to which they responded wrote a book whose backbone was a stem and its leaves upheld the bark of the trees made of the steel from which they were born. On those poppy fields intentions reacted with minor swings to insert themselves into the tail of the firmament. It was like making firewood from Ceiba trees thorns. I didn’t care about the thorns, just the order of the punctures they left on my hands.