“Cowboys” / “I Love You, Says the Target”
There are men who shoot the corners
off their orgasm just to be right.
There was a time when the hominids
chose to build a house.
The strip between each nostril.
I am only here when I weep.
Rush my flesh to meet any boundary.
When some women smile it makes me want
to be a piston into their happy head.
I am entrance and all are occupied.
Here is my grapefruit smile.
Here are my hands creeping,
my cortex framed.
Blood will not exist.
Blood will not be seen.
I Love You, Says the Target
I will jump on god when he stops to take a shit.
Tell him: lift me by my cervix if you can,
because I don’t want to be hospitalized again.
What we did here don’t deserve satellites around it.
I am salivating the doctrine of my amygdala.
That’s the acid that eats wishes.
I choke on friends just doing the dishes.
There is a philosophy behind every fistula.
Christopher Parks’ work has appeared or is forthcoming in Rattle, Touchstone, Collagist, Red Cedar Review, and others. He is a psychologist who works with people who are homeless in Detroit, MI.