This is not my gig, a 24-page zine containing 22 peculiar poems.
In the dream, he tells me he doesn’t need a condom
In the dream, he tells me
he doesn’t need a condom
he has his book. In the dream, we’ve both
read it. Condoms are a manifestation
of Capitalism. A Bad Thing. Probably
made by Monsanto. We don’t
need them. We can use our minds
to divert the sperm. In the dream
I know it works, if done
together. We have to trust.
I can’t. Yet
in the dream, we don’t
have a condom
to our name.