shelley feller :: Beaucoup Bottoms & Fireworks for a Resolute New Year

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O, post-christmas oratorio. O, missile of mystic penetration. O, ozone, stretched asunder; cleft my no, non, noon, transfixed generally, u kno? for the nonce, id est to core cis impulse toward heroic model of intellect, excluded from. My the opposite of irony is intensity got me evicted heretofore. I consist in my passions which I am made to extinct and so am newly full of talent. To be loved is a talent everybody surrenders to. To participate in a social contract. It looks like a triangle sorely so from myself /configured.

When I say Divine I mean a fat man in drag who died some time before I was born. More often than not, I myself mean to the world: fat man in drag, and know that sometimes love is we drown. O Love, thy white, pervasive Paradigm, Rise! Rise, like a virus awoken–pain’s pollen, half-bug/half-seed, raise up thy phagocyte on the face of nation and Rive Divine–

Cunt-struck and so constructed brand new, my ’lectric zings power mit brut force. Zap my face. Zap my name. Pluck my bad bat. Mouthed around a phoneme “boy” and so dissected in my glottis. Held inguinal, I duct I taper. My modulated voice, how does it sound? Trimmed my tinny inmost, my voice thrown laaa. Pussy be phoneme be phenom bespoke my body. Now sissy sissy sissy that walk.

Celebrate your cold sores. Drape them and so be adorned. Self-effacement a social disease. The virus adopts you and you adapt. Seeded lip to lip, the virus knows love’s ironies and discontents, those machinations of history all velvet across cruel optimism, wrung out like a sermon to shine: I am mother of the house of no shame / my pussy is fire now kiss the flame.

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I write this in a house the taxpayers of a state I am not from pay for, a state which less than five years ago attempted to try a man on charges of sodomy. They ping me money electric, unawares I use it to buy $12 candles called “Blonde Woods & Musk” because they smell like a man I would bottom for. Is a person a place is a question I ask myself here. A separate space, designed

maybe by an antiquarian or a bank robber; a mortician; a carpenter; a porn star; a lawyer. This place of me is not discerning, though I’d like to think my bumhole a five star resort for any cock who’s hot to trot. Many places, of course, are marked as other and must muscle through this life always in some crisis. Some are more sexed than others, and unprotectedly. Some do not physically exist.

I pass myself in the mirror, and at the moment to which I am something greater, instinct calls me back and the fantasy goes flat. Extinction is succinct. A cull cow. Muscle up to meat me, mute me. O Janus-faced, captured twin-half steeled in shadow, I cruise you butch&salty down in your ravine. I pass myself in the mirror and at once I am evicted from the moment, swallowed whole by longing in time’s wide riptide.

I light Blonde Woods & Musk. Where I lies flatly boundaried in a realm of passion, consist with slow and thoughtful love: a wave, a wake, I light my own angle of incidence. Thru realms of dispossession, I is a place

unlike any other. I am convinced of this, for I am odd. I::adorned; I::contested; I::in vestments, dressless, duressless, lestless; I::enacted, utopic for to flame I’s ice &

nonce; I’s shine a place so asunder: Rive Divine. I nonce a place implacable and so do shine.