For the Hive
Those were years I told one man after another sure,
I’d fuck a lug like you, why not. I looked down the barrel
of each rifled gaze because I wanted less to be like a woman
who waits than a man who takes as he pleases, enters a bar,
surveys the perennial variety, chooses which one he’ll take
home. No longing; no loneliness allowed: just action.
. . . continue reading here.