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  • I Masturbate Then Pray to God
  • Tiana Clark (bio)

poetry, desire, religion, slavery, porn

to forgive me I masturbatethen pray to God to forgive meI masturbate then hate myselfafter scrolling endlessly throughporn I never find exactly what it isthat I'm looking for because there isno category for my type of desireso I keep searching for a scenariosomewhat sensual not too violentnot too fake with a story some senseof plot development and I keep clickingvulgar search terms that never satisfyI keep working till I master the houseslave kink within me she is looking outof the window from the big houseacross a search field which is my bodyon the verge she thinks about runningaway but does not dare I'm only herebecause one maybe two slaves stayedresistance isn't always about pushingback but perhaps submitting to a fieldof cotton notating the sublime cottagecheese color scheme there woven throughbrown choking branches like meaty Caucasianhands clasping dark throats groping thickbrushwork en plein air into the wild gushingdistance with a freer black belly I look likea human so human my face struckby artificial light laptop light graphic lightleaking liquid crystals frosted red-green-bluechromatics throbbing until I pinged untilI rubbed I swiveled racial slurs and cursewords out of my zonked clit arching the ladleof my lower back by tipping the invective juiceand jive and isn't this how you empty the body'scup anyway by needling the pleasure buttons [End Page 128] after I scroll through all the porn I masturbatethen pray to God after the shame-hate-spiral comeslike a call I deny I send the voicemail to my chestand never check it but I don't delete it eitheras it descends like a zap of divine punishmentsmearing some version of God's gloppy guiltand yes I dislike myself for the hating I dislikemyself for the watching watching another bodywriggle inside another littler window anothertorso that is not mine I stand between twowindows as if two mirrors infinitely appearinginto the wild distances splayed by pink pleasureand bondage where I am the house slave againwearing an iron muzzle I can barely speak or eatbut I keep slipping little slivers of glass intomy master's food my psyche split by churchand salt I'm praying for God to forgive mebecause there is always a moment during myvideo-clip-clickbait hole where I see somethingthat doesn't make me feel quite so good I amtrying to push back on that earlier word somethingwhich contains all the effable and ineffablenessof language sure a well-placed placeholder wordcan pop but I want to make sure I'm not being lazymaybe I can try to fetch a metaphor or simile or bothokay so during my video-clip-clickbait hole I searchto find unmitigated pleasure like when I fly I fearI will die every time and my therapist tells me to acceptthis out-of-control fate wave to succumb to the endnot with desire but with focus on my breath I feel immensejoy when I land looking at my survival a warm whisperingI'm alive I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive I'mhorny and still waiting to disembark I thank the flightattendants each one I look inside their eyes as I leavethe long coffin with wings

                                                            and two quotes [End Page 129]

are bobbing around my head right now like twosplish-splashing fish one from Robert Frost,which I found through Matthew Zapruder's syllabus:

What I am pointing out is that unless you are at home in the metaphor,unless you have had your proper poetical education in the metaphor,you are not safe anywhere. Because you are not at ease with figurative values:you don't know the metaphor in its strength and its weakness. You don'tknow how far you...


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pp. 128-131
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