virgin summertime sun,
whom do you bleed on today?
you kept my bones warm,
when i wanted a whore.
you will not be in my poems,
i will not dream about you.
i will not masturbate over you,
or taste your flower’s bloom.
i’ll travel abandoned streets,
and be a shadow of myself.
my days will be woven together,
with the integrity of my hunger.
who will i fuck tomorrow,
my privilege of pocket change.
far away where the wind swallows,
i will go there to be pissed on,
who will steal my thoughts then,
or reach out to touch them.
the effort blistered, naked, callused,
my fingers vibrate empty.
my flesh burns from inside,
i wait on the darkness to laugh.
when my cancer dances for me,
happy will be my night.