Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Twenty-eight
Spring 2012
 
Pull My Ear*
Carlo Matos

Let’s assume you can understand anything—not ideas, not concepts. What you understand are desires. Let’s posit that things others worry over or pretend to worry over bother you not at all. Goat fucking? Please. Suicide? C’mon. Murder? Just another day at the office. Infidelity? Might as well get a shave. Goodness? Nothing to it. There’s no such thing, as far as you’re concerned, as the failure of the imagination. People will seek you out. A ready ear to pull. A rare thing. Of course, it will not be returned. What sense would there be, after all, in one goat fucker confessing to another goat fucker about the loveliness of his weekend? You will punish without judgment, serve the moment and charge it again.

*A recent survey concluded that although there has been a drastic increase in references to copulation with farm animals in popular media, actual incidence of the act has been in steep decline since the 1800s.

About Carlo Matos

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