Eric Keenaghan

Onan is, mmm, 1) Dancing disfigures on the page

from The Skin Trade

-- solo uno, o solo mío --

most murderous, most murderous
(says me; stammer a stutter)
most murderous (1 thing sticks),
stake (open) & (sesame) ...
     (caught
     coughed)
     FAGGOT!
     (’tis said.)

This was ocular sweets. Or, penetration
seepage, dripping grey -- materia maniacal --
on a busride to an unhome.
A brain’s way of looking out. Blocking the way back
in.

Porque pigs are positioned in the corners

-- spaces somewhat interstitial --

probing defined borders donde tú estásbuscándome,
I tend to quilt myself in boxes, stitching time,
a cushion of Platonism. & I geturing to a mime,
he complains -- in my own stilled tongue --

of these fears: the finger pointing
          ,gouging
                ,probing
                         exploratory test sights,
                                         surgeoning ampleverbiage.
Phobic phonics for the panmictic.
(Ever outward, desde los lineales los jamases.
                Nevernever lines & bastardrugrats
          solicit intersexual spawn.)

There he found me
in the borders, excrescent white spaces,
stuffed to amplitude with signs: waves, fluids, floods,
      swimming. Teasing.
Acomin’ immeasurable apex of prurience, in streams. My release...

George, I may be there.

There.
No,
here; where
you find me.
Impalation is excess, so ¿why insistently drive

a stake through the space where I once was?

Here
is Jocasta’s broach.

Then
you shall find me

slit the boxes that immure me
& dig apart the threads that bind
an episiotomy
so I may crown

in the space between: the pubic arch
                where femur joints pelvis
                pelvic plate
                penile pushing to the fore
My skin elides.
An eruption of sorts. An inside-out, or
an outside longing to be on the in.

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