last night at Eyebeam... a revelation...
sex, yes... and death, yes... are inextricably entangled...
am i the first to notice this, Agave? they're both
hard to swallow, and yes, surely i'm the first to call
orgasm the 'little death' which only grows with a thud
into the big One? every point i make is broken with delight
against the corpse of sex, the messy spew of death. wait
a minute, there's more, all sorts of things of bones
growing after the brain stops, what sort of ugly repeating
shatters geometries into the semblance of Becoming?