Let's Have Fun

F-U-N is a ladder of three letters. This poem climbs it — sacred sex as dissolution, calendars burning, two bodies becoming one breath. Climb.

Snap knuckles cracking
in the back-alley cathedral,
I'm packing syllables
stacked like psalms,
lethal and luminous,

hey miss,
you want fun?
She blinks,
I say F-U-N,
she says what,
I say f^ck until nirvana,

crush the brink of ego,
dissolution in three letters,
I'm a sutra spitter,
rap so hard the room turns zikr,
every rhyme a prayer wheel
spinning sin into scripture.

What do you mean?
I mean the void is calling,

FUN:
F#ck Until Numb,
body humming,
both falling
through the floorboards
into the infinite hum,

or FUNY, honey,
funny how the vowel stays silent,
like your inhibitions dying,
like the saints getting violent
with their own flesh,

F&ck Until Next Year
stretches infinite,
the calendar burns,
the Y is yes unspoken,
the Y is your spine
arching like a holy token,

two bodies becoming one breath,
one death of the separate self,
the devil and the angel
trading places on the shelf.

FUN:
F~ck Until Neither can walk,
legs liquid,
scripture spilled across the mattress,

FUN:
F@ck Until Neighbors know your name
through walls grown thinner than veil,
than skin,
than the membrane
between sin and salvation,

every acronym an ascension,
every f+ck a station
of the cross, of the star,
of the date we don't speak
but keep sacred in the hipbone,
in the hum, in the week
that never ends,
Tuesday morning burning to ash,

the soul and the flesh crash
like cymbals, like symbols,
like cymatics of desire,
every spark a wild choir.

Bring water.
Bring wine.
Bring the dissolution of time.

The ladder is three letters.
Climb.