In this Country

In this country, we take our identity from how we feel when we come, we are only that. In that country they take their identity from what they do to get sex--that is, to survive. They must be consistent to be recognized, and there is disgust and fear. In this country we recognize fullness.

In that country they despise the body--it gets you sex but more often it doesn't, it controls you sends you to words.

In this country, trees and birds, relics speak in me, human accents. In that country, don't you feel ashamed in front of _____? In this country, abandoned to corruption, to my body, used like a strumpet, emasculated from head to toe, the order of my appetite's gratification. Nevertheless, I emerge because this is what stands at my side, triumphant.

In this country dirt is okay because we don't fear shit. In that country our hands have to be clean or we won't get sex.

In this country we all feel the same sensations which is paradise, because when we feel pleasure, pleasure is feeling itself, not us, when we taste sugar, sweetness is happening, not us.

In this country, it must be mice, all forms of encroachment, being overtaken, tracked down even in my own dreams, permeable to outsides invading. In that country, incubating, those adorned contraptions abandoned around me--partly barbed partly smooth.

In this country reality for a cocksucker is a cock. In this country suffering and joy are equal because feeling anything is the opposite of feeling nothing. In this country a naked woman moves through the sky in geometric poses.

In this country, all containing, in nerves, little friends, those finest threads. The intercourse though myself with the beyond that does not often comprehend the living, or an intense need for evacuation overcomes me when enough material is not present.

In that country god is beyond nature, won't have colleagues or rivals, doesn't shit eat fuck, and there's no story about him. In this country the skin that covers clits and cocks covers the whole body. Press any part, we are that feeling.

In that country: residue. The early forms persist with the recent ones--oral, anal, genital. We simplify, thus falsify. In this country: transitions. In this way we are altered, a tendentious purpose, blinding, lost in another country, unknown and without having a good pair of legs.

In that country only a few rules govern space and time. In this country I'm in two places at once, with you and with you.

In this country, I will hide as a stain on the floor. Drop by drop. Right there, a falling away, a lull.

In that country, we are tending together to tighten the bonds. To twist the screw as order amongst those that have none. Suddenly I spring together. For the stain, in this country, the powers of the negative shape the limits. When the stain on the floor wants to please herself-incapable of carving outwards, the space-including-space is a lapping below. In that country, the stains together grieve, crawl and therein discover what governs their reverie, bending to justify the search on hands and knees.

That country daydream this country nightdream. That country's name is holes and buzzing power lines.

In that country a cock gushes sperm while seeking a long-term relationship, walks on the beach, travel, moonlight, Italy. In that country Crzyfrmtheheat-

In this country: disquiet. In that country: the past's baneful presence in the new experience. What makes us known to each other through tears, that final breath. In that country we are standing together as cars pass; we anticipate tearing into each other in an embrace mistaken for desire. In this country--it is not--is just that shiver we wake to each day.

In that country truth does not include you, your memory a rotting rag does not support the present.

In that country I don't know who I am: I take care of someone so there's no difference between compassion and selfishness, both will outlive me. In that country childhood, in this country death. How is a newspaper itself? How is the sky? Or the feeling of moving forward? Arriving hills between the two worlds?

In this country we postpone our collaboration, while in that country we collaborate freely.

In this country, voluptuousness. In that country, luxuriousness.

In that country a beautiful race of humans writes the topic sentences in a green paradise, and a stunted race trapped below the ground writes the development and occasionally eats one of the topic-sentence humans.

In that country, in order to lose the self, disintegration is being possessed by another. In this country, in the movie, they tear me limb from limb.

In this country you get 5 points for having sex with a reptile, 10 points for insects, 15 points for hairy sex with the natural landscape, 15 points for sex with the sky, 3 points for sex with a book, 3 points for sex with a corpse.

In that country, beg. Find the permeable and tear it open. Prowl through me, leave your pleasure on me, take what serves. In this country, it's the night's night, clenched not grinding.