Poem | Sarah Parijs

Beat inspired artwork by Divya Adusumilli

Histories of Desire

Swirl, swirl, swirl, swirl.
Images and lines that wile away seconds.
Time seems strangely, perversely sexual,
invasive and sensational.
I can feel it ticking by,
but I equally want to invade it
and make it beg for what I offer.

Could I fuck time?
Could I make it mine or at least pretend it’s mine?
Subjective and subjugating in tautological cycles.
Slow. Fast. Sweet. Harsh.
I want to play it at my fingertips
so each second is slow and crisp.
Chronological cunt: I would taste it
as a metaphysical master,
letting it spill into my mouth.

Drink history and future
and dog-fuck it with my fingers
to drive it higher and make time beg for more
like I do – more time together.
Rimming and worshiping
at the celestial and ephemeral altar
of temporality, to feel an alien anus
quiver against my tongue.

I want ownership and inscription
to write meaning onto time
and have it write on me;
to carve myself into time
and have it carve into me so that
we’re always, already, ambiguously
fucking, fleeing, and freed.

Then again, it swirls, escapes,
makes me want it more.

1 comment:

  1. Yes, you could fuck it, a nice notion while it my be vivid. Time waits for no man, but hell have mercy for it when it crosses your path. Why did this remind me of coffee and fruitroll ups?