I stuck my finger in the bowl.
I don’t know what semen looks like in a toilet bowl of pee.
I swirled my finger.
It became clear to me that it was only toilet paper.
It had been beaten to a cloud from our pee streams.
We had been peeing on top of it for a few hours.
At your house you don’t flush.
So at mine we’re starting not to.
Crane shot of myself with my finger in the pee/toilet paper cloud I first perceived as semen.
I thought when you are sleeping with someone as in having sex with them,
And sleeping with someone as in sleeping next to them,
And peeing on top of their pee,
And sticking your finger in the pee to see if it is also semen,
Then you are really alone.
Like maybe that is one of the most alones.
Crane shot became aerial view of aloneness captured via satellite.
From the earth’s orbit I saw me sticking my finger in pee because it is potentially semen.
I saw myself swirling the cloud of toilet paper/pee.
I became suddenly aware of gravity.
That gravity may be the only thing you can count on.
Gravity and death and a few other laws of motion.
And then maybe not even that.
So I went into the living room to read while you were sleeping.
The semen was not inside of me.
And it was not in the toilet.
But most likely on a cardigan that belonged to my sister.
A cardigan that I’ve worn so much now,
It doesn’t even have buttonholes anymore.
The Blazer Sisters at the Age of Twenty-Six
attached at the hip, conjoined twin sisters in the 18th century
they wore separate bonnets but carried one parasol
two arms, two arms
two legs, two legs
under the separate skirts, each a separate woman
and i wonder did they long for the same lover
wish to be pleasured separately or together
who holds the parasol, who decides
which way to go
what company to keep
because i imagine
That The Blazer Sisters At the Age of Twenty-Six
had an easier time agreeing
than i do on a regular basis
because sure i am only one
but also surely two
and so maybe there is a hidden luxury
in having the self physically divided
hidden halves that seem also wholes—
mine is a secret handicap
while The Blazer Sisters At the Age of Twenty-Six,
their limitations physical, visible, natural
mine are just the side effects of a crippling narcissism
and a grotesque inability to think of anyone but my selves.