Again, What Do I Know About Desire?

Let me explain how nothing ever changes—the scenery, sure
but everything else is the same: you take off your clothes
& become nothing, but a log too wet to throw into a fire.
Ignore me. I’m still trying to figure out what it means to stay.
Us faggots are predictable this way, even when we’re here
we’re gone—let me explain again: he sticks a finger in my mouth
& asks me to take the ring off with my teeth & I do. I imagine
his wife’s naked frame: average & angry on my tongue. I roll her
around, store her in my cheek while I suck his cock. With a chisel
she make a statue from each tooth. Here, a dolphin. Here
a strange bird—I want to be a bird, or forgiven. It’s all
very predictable. You walk into the field expecting to be
devoured & then you are. The moon, a paper plate thinning
from your sopping shape. It’s all very boring, really. It ends
how it begins: a man holds out his hand & you empty
the contents of your ordinary mouth.