SIMONE WEIL READ BY MASOCHIST

my way is to shrink
in the presence of greatness

a disappearing impulse that reacts
in proportion to the degree of force

this is how i come to god

on my knees, hands bound
behind my back, begging

please, fuck me, daddy

GREGORY

sleeping in my mother’s apartment
in my hometown i dreamt
about my childhood
rapist, who told me that it
was a bourgeois notion to believe
that all my friends should
bring me comfort. i got
red in the face and wanted
to scream but didn’t run
or fight

UNIVERSAL MONSTER

there are all these little forgettings

like i can’t remember
what my nose looks like
under all these bandages

tracing the contours of this stitched
up frankenstein’s monster line
across my scalp

the doctor says i’ve got
a strong monster line
lucky in love line

now in my need for dramatics
we’re covering all the mirrors
and isn’t this fun

like we’re vampires
holed up in mexico

like how fast does a mirror image fade
when you turn away

ORDINAL

i like the phrase devil’s
threesome because it implies to me
the existence of a spiritual ranking
of threesomes

i looked into a mirror that said
meet the person most responsible
for your safety
and that felt like a lot
of pressure

ideally
i would like to be standing
between two large men
with safe hands and
the devil watching

that night your face looked like a dozen separate windmills under construction delays due to ongoing litigation between the city and the city's ex-wife & i mean that in the best way i mean        i mean that your face         was like a beautiful inertia held        in place by bad blood because             you know    bad blood is         still blood      you know blood is what pulls any moment         back in   towards         itself                like         a car crash in reverse spitting blood onto the gravel spitting blood onto your face & you spitting blood back onto mine our love like a car crash in reverse from collapse to        calamity to calm nothing here even remotely ready           to detonate    i say            & you say         to shut up running a gauntlet of           wiffle ball bats &    sneers at your art         from your racist uncles dead    drunk on decisions       &   oh man        you look         so good         in your underwear like       the winner of     a game show                where         the grand    prize is             an orgasm like the loser of     a game show        where    the punishment is        unlimited snake wine this connection        growing tinny in         the corners of the           evenings where we need the bodies       of those        we    love            to shatter in their beds                to prove that       we know         how       to eulogize                   too stoked                 about your demons &            too scared         to deal with    mine                this corrosion   in    the lining of the year across the edge        of always in the rain   exhaled as smoke     towards the corner   the    the corner     in the rain   the city     deflating like a         lung                 can't    remember when the last time was         that i could muster the             enthusiasm to act like i knew         what i was talking                about &        how        sobs echo lazy        down the dark    gullet of train tunnels hey   meet me at the corner   at the   diner    at the library   wherever     but here               & me demanding       penalty & clemency           & maybe        a plane ticket depending on how the first two     are received         your     mouth like a dog    jumping over     a river & my hands like two hands       clenching   hard on     nothing much in particular    explaining the concept of a cemetery to a horse        i'm not trying        to make something   important             i'm just trying to    dig at death as         soft &           deliberate as           a surgeon    signing their name in stitches                 at the bottom right corner                 of an operation                happy birthday to what's unspoken             happy        birthday to all of us lollygagging    our catharsis until it ruptures on the table            it's    so     nice                 everyone    so very dead         so very soon unlimited snake wine        for the table unlimited snake wine           for america unlimited snake wine        for all        that ails you     health benefits         include never ever having to         say goodnight or i'm sorry          grabbing on to something inside & pulling til it breaks        guaranteed virility        the sense that everyone hates     you   but        finally     knowing why        learning karate        burning the blight        out     your brain becoming a conspiracy theory     bursting with with fragile light          butterfly        teeth            defusing   the bomb of miracle         rolling slowly    to a stop          at the foot          of the stairs do you think       you could   spot me        some cash          i don't       get paid         til friday

soggy field
all bent
and rain
laden, you
can see
the paths
animals took
on their
way somewhere,
like wakes
left softly
by boats,
their crews
methodically working
together to
tie me
up and
embed me
between flipped
over hulls,
roughly pouring
jars of
fresh honey
all over
me, soaking
me in
honey if
you want
to be
quite honest,
draining fluid
ounces down
my throat
until i
can feel
honey pressing
against my
lungs, until
i can
always taste
honey in
the back
of my
throat and
my pores
leak, no
stigmata, just
slow rot
and the
princess spurns
my amour
and stoically
instructs that
the punishment
continue at
all costs
even if
the captains
can no
longer stomach
the way
husky flies
have forgotten
their old
devonian rivalries
and joined
forces with
wet shining
beetles to
really go
down on
me, alighting
on virgin
patches of
skin to
gnaw on
and make
burrows for
wet payloads
of their
soft warm
egg clutches
deep in
my melichrous
skin and
balmy organs
looming just
below my
surfaces like
rainbow trout
flaring silently
in the
long pylons
of light
that burn
me, that
slowly freckle
my limbs
as i
moan and
tauten in
the old
scrawny ropes
binding me,
supporting what
my saturated
flesh becomes:
something pestilential,
something you’d
catapult over
the enemy’s
walls, and
insects start
to know
my body
more as
a home
than a
higher power
and they
get front
row tickets
to watch
my desperate
personhood cede
itself to
something i
don’t know,
an older
style of
living, more
hubbub, a
bustling commune
whose nuances
are hard
to navigate
at first,
kinda like
the cult
i started
during college
i dedicated
in honor
of you
and the
soon-to
-be-dead

the point, of course, is to road from the airport to the office,
        to copyedit article drafts, to think of fresh content,
your boss, the lifestyle editor, by now, desked a cup of macchiato
        from that fancy rat-free coffee shop₁ you snob
no one escapes a hundred percent from capitalism, a workmate
        who’s from that premier state university would say,
ironically, this once student activist is now fed by Chinese oligarchs,
        the company van driver can’t do anything about morning rush,
his supposed expertise, maybe he gives the passenger-employees smooth talk
        like your ex who recently graduated from his MFA,
but you’re a sucker for small chitchats: how dyou find the weather today?
        plus your Tagalog has gotten worse since your last Filipino teacher
the thing is, you’re from the south, none of your alphabet blocks fit in, a clear outsider,
        so you speak English all the time, now, you’re a burgis₂ in name,
but you still don’t stand out, you’re not from a UAAP₂ school

₁Starbucks Philippines customer complains finding dead mouse in coffee, http://www.ibtimes.com.au/starbuckscustomer-complains-finding-dead-mouse-coffee-1502615
₂Burgis is a Tagalized word for bourgeois.
₃UAAP (abbreviation for University Athletic Association of the Philippines) is a collegiate athletic association of eight universities located in Manila.