belatedly, after Paul Thek
composed on World AIDS Day
No sex here,
no content
except what
survives as joy,
and praise fail-
ure which becomes
you not nailed
to anything
no concept but
suffering a
semblance nonetheless,
so real was it
inside us and
embodying and gut-
ted, metaphor
the ongoingness
of notebooks,
eternal sketch
of that towering
to topple a wreck
subsides in unful-
fillment, time
runs out but your body
afflicted was free,
its total simul-
taneity like a
sympathy atoning
for nothing
all language becomes
a love letter,
all drawing
describes a pun
on sunset, on relic,
on humility
the world continues
to end
though neither
spirit or body appear,
no soul outside
of history
art is uncleansed,
a literal blood,
uncleansed would be
a place to begin.
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