I put my queer shoulder to the wheel
so often that I no longer think
of my shoulder as a shoulder
or my body as more than part
of the wheel. I hate that I’m alluding
to Ginsberg, but who knows how long
it’ll be before I suck another cock
& here I am in my room conjuring
the ghost of cocksuckers past.
The thing about being the wheel
is that you turn so much your whole
world is just turning, you forget
about breathing or hunger or touch,
you’re just a fucking wheel & your function
is to function. When Ginsberg said
the thing about queer shoulders
and wheels he never said if we get off.
It’d be easy to make a joke about getting off,
but I’m dying & I’m deleting my browser history
& I don’t want anyone to explain sissy hypnosis
to my family. I got high and looked into
the legality of self-written wills and without
witnesses everything’s pretty shaky
so I need you to promise that my family
won’t find out about sissy hypnosis from you.
The narrative conceit of a sissy hypnosis
video is that the viewer is working towards
the goal of being totally submissive to men.
It’s pretty depressing that my fantasies
require labor, but my shoulder is here
and the wheel is there and I just want
a hand on my shoulder so badly
that I’ll put it to that wheel and turn
fruitlessly, knowing it won’t respond.
I know that this is theoretically a newsletter you signed up for because you wanted to see what I was writing about music, and I may be getting back into that soon, but I wrote a poem and wanted to share it. Hope y’all are well.