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Skinning It What I could never tell was size by looking— his big enough? Couldn’t tell anyone how the body had become my own set of Legos, this part into that, in/out, in/out, I was fucking every man who crossed my path, random fucking, him or him, no difference, & I couldn’t tell the one about the other—but not their business & what was the equation: long slow stride = patient lover, small but smooth? sideways lean = quick, stop & go fuck? body builder = small dick, overcompensates? large hands = large hands, don’t count on it. I wanted ruin/wreckage, the up-against-the-stallquick -from-behind-huge-cock-in-me bathroom fuck. How could I tell my sweetie-sweet friends that I blew the guy on the rugby team? on the ferry? in the carport? or the gargantuan cock of the train steward, in its rocknroll across Canada/his cock rolling the train of me? Why is the raw body so unloved when it’s out-loud? Just veins, blood, what we’re made of? No, it’s the greed, the dying for it I would never tell— they’d say: she’s too hungry, should have eaten breakfast, man-eater, size queen, they’d say all that need = I don’t want to know her, all those cocks = slut = white-trash-train-wreck. Then I’d say, what are you hiding under your nice-nice-nice? When’s the last time you skinned it hard? I’d say quiet, polite = not quite big enough. 9 BeattyPGS:Layout 1 2/5/08 8:28 PM Page 9 ...

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