Tract #2
Anthony Seidman

The wall I lust
the way tick itches for blood, lice eggs
cling amorously to blonde follicle or
glutton sharpens his
cholesterol against the pointed edge
on a wheel of cheddar cheese

the wall I lust
(knowing it isn’t tangible, is moon-air, is cricket-chatter)
hones my nerves into ultraviolet rays into
alien cnidaria floating in a carbon slush sea
or supernova
exploding to all five directions of the Big-Empty
groping for non-carbon-based sperm
for a sex-drive of asteroids and ammonia-fetish
in atmosphere of a planet revolving round a red giant sun

the wall I lust
doesn’t align bad with evil, doesn’t
distinguish justice from racketeering,--

is the no-wall
air served in chalice of syllables
cage of photons
tiger-comet of flame
crackling into the atmosphere of Venus
rupturing into fragments no larger
than the prison cells holding my imaged larcenies & arsons…

the wall I sweat for and excrete
is the unwall: 

not water…  not hydrogen… not oxygen…  not darkness… but the Dark….