My proverbial son is staring at the bird in
that one little window in his room: it’s porn.
It’s how he’ll be infected.
Everything is porn, says Sara while feeding
Chinese food to homeless people
in her latest video.
Sometimes I feel like I’m involved
in a desperate advertising campaign,
trying to sell the 21st century.
All those prisoners and all that shaven pussy:
you’d think it would be an easy job.
Nothing is easy when you have to
deal in overexposed bodies.
I vomit a little from the sugar-high and then go
search for my daughters who are
playing with screwy dolls and millionaires.
I have to find a killer but I’m worried he
doesn’t even know who I am.
Sinead is all snotty in the face and screaming:
she must be throwing a tantrum.
She’s plugged her hare into an electrical outlet.
Nobody listens. I’m putting down my arms.
Sometimes when I wear my Orpheus mask
and my mouth is full of pomegranates
I want to remember my past,
but mostly I’m just sick or horny or I want to
shoot a bullet through my head: The story of Joy.
I have a landscape fetish but only when it’s made of naked bodies.
I make my paint out of women’s cum and spit.
I make a language out of the bleed-through.
I use it do describe my “pillow angel.”
None of the doves survive and I have eating disorders.
Now I’m wearing my new shoes to the interrogation.
Johannes Göransson is the author of five books, including most recently Haute Surveillance (Tarpaulin Sky, 2013), and the translator of several more, including works by Aase Berg, Johan Jönson and Henry Parland. He edits Action Books and Action, Yes, writes for Montevidayo.com and teaches at the University of Notre Dame.