Probably Ain't Pretty

This hunger’s a progenitor –
to want what it would have you
take to be complete is to discover
how best to entreat the Universe
to fork that portion of itself
your psyche slavers over, over –

over, over any hump of any lumpy
and inapposite impediment: bad luck
or interference? – this hunger
ravages through any muck or block –
shocks, steals, insists upon
the “real”: projecting with alacrity,

it preternaturally accurately
chooses and objectifies: until
the prey is right before its eyes –
proved it’s what this hunger knows
it wants. Today your body’s blunt:
belly-flops into the rapids of a sly

internal torrent of desire cutting
through the mire of any indecision:
ambiguity has no place in this place
in you: there’s only space
for lust. Probably ain’t pretty when
it gets like this. Tough nuts.



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