ISOSCELES DICK
or, The Way Things Work Around These Parts
ISOSCELES DICK
Or, THE WAY THINGS WORK
AROUND THESE PARTS
The poet’s coin is never weighed—
at least it ain’t against the featherweight
of reading voices I exhibit with.
The orgasm has a long sustain pedal
pushed down by the mind. It is a choice
to interpret a thoughtless destruction
of innocent life. A choice to absolve one’s self
of horrid guilt. It’s been months. “You better pray
you’re a new person.”
Molecules of dream pollen stick to my insectile
legs. I relive the stories of long-ago dream
narratives, see in my drowsy mind’s eye
the streets and alcoves, architecture of a night-
time dream reverie. Sexual thoughts unbidden
slipping bonds of repression burst and fade:
slow, negative fireworks. Something has happened
allowing me to write. Truffaut speaks his dialogue
in the US army base, “Un événement psychologique.”
Special occasion: Oral sex from Aubrey in my mind.
I can’t evade erotic tidal pulls. Literally
it’s been subjective centuries, but objective months
since last I climaxed. The subjective is the true metric.
It’s a rhyme, a little, how orgasms annotate the time
that otherwise goes unperceived with long celibacy.
Just the way two identical clouds, alike in every way
but size, will annotate the landscape’s depth,
and clarify perspective. To cum reorders time,
reintroduces it via the slow decay of mental effects,
neurochemicals resolving into new shapes, new sculptures
of mood. The MRI scans over several hours, if they
could be taken, would reveal deep changes:
delta transformation. Otherwise, a blindness. Death being
the wages of love.
Time reasserts its unidirectionality, its uniformity.
The weather arrows indicating pressure all
start pointing one way. Except that in this case,
the “nature” is the realest weather there is for you—
affective mood.
You’ll be pulled under by post-coital exhaustion.
The true test of the theological rightness or wrongness
of sexual release comes after a subsequent sleep.
It’s Heisenberg until unconsciousness plays
a casino role in deciding. Repression we pray
to evade, the prayer didn’t work, so we try
to cling to a sequence of happiness
an inner light to be, frankly, enjoyed. The sustain pedal
of long orgasm.
The horizontal in the post-orgasm,
the deadly horizontal tendency.
Getting head from a memory, no visual
aids. That much is good at least.
The ex-gf gets the credits, the pneuma
jewelry to wear as a trophy wherever
she is, whatever faraway world.
LATER, SLEEP
The waiting room in the dream terminal “IVAN”
Lots of South Asians and Arabs in the dream zone,
like Yellowstone National Park, packed with tourists,
queuing styles wildly variant.
This was the post-orgasmic dreamtime the deepest,
most heavily weighted down with symbolic ballast.
Vehicles routed on automated tracks, diagrams
showed inexorable destinations, shuttles taking groups
of people somewhere bad, I want to say afterlives,
but not understood while en route. The dream switchyard
of unconsciousness heavily policed, authoritarian
control never explained to the throngs
of individuals sent through the “System.”
A weird excitement within the terror revisited
during waking hours.
My brother-in-law inhabited another body
and yelled in Arabic for a couple to move
out of their seats on the bus/rollercoaster/
theme park ride we were on
to make room for some people he thought more favored.
These switchyard dreams seem to say something
about a larger movement, I can’t handle the sensory
overload of the transportation, the traffic,
the conveyance of gnostic conveyor belts,
there in life but drifting bleeding over
into death, unconsciousness, dreams.
This message set in motion 6/2/25
by the happenstance of the arousal,
the isosceles dick erect in memory,
and the memory caused the orgasm
which led to the dream, which disturbed
the sleep, which led to the mis-dosage
of the sike meds, which bled over into
a sequence of manic-depressive days
and then fearful psychosis.
“Dreamer, hapless journeyer – you had the truth
right there in your hand,
an instrument finer than the gold-crafter’s,
an unheard-of tool that would change
everything. And then you dropped it.
And came back here. Why? Why did you do that?
Don’t you know that the point is to leave
and never come back? Or are you trying to convey
something to us in the returning?”