from Hospitalogy

by David Wolach

/ / /

--The mirror makes faces at me, one of them

Door length leaning left-like just enough to be

Fixed in the present tense, of a me some years

Back before all this rx detritus gathering in

Crouched between two row houses listening

To their sick heaves and flesh slapping wide

Flesh, my penis I rub feels different out side

Maybe it’s the real air, or was it the common

Sense of this, fucking a thing good in itself

Things have use value as long as they don’t exist

As long as long as it’s private how a child, I was

Rehearsing Rilke’s Seven Phallic Poems I Was

Not thinking of trees, the folds and veins

And the melanin spots I still why when alone

Connect them with a felt pen like dots with

Coded mystery, as more arrive each year

The shape changes never says something

I don’t know, now I cum without warning

/ / /

Aspartame or black mold let’s trace causes

Rumors of traincars moved us from gulags

I want to lullaby what adulterates you

How do you vaccinate a small h his-

Story when from our ember chamber

The timbre of my want song alibies?

Translocamotive of some velocity

Your arm's under heavy scrutiny let's

Abdicate they're reality show hosts

---lullaby as amplitude

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