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CLOSE / Parnassiad

Peace and Other Stories

Fragments of a Formerly Active Sex Life

Letter to the Other Man
by Julian X  /  poetry  /  25 Oct 2008

  Iím sure it haunts you

     to imagine her in cuffs,

   to imagine

         her straining

               beneath me

           for breath,

     after youíd built her into everything

                      you think you want.



         you get to be the one who cries for her

              but itís me who gets her sex.

   You wanted to get inside her soul,

                  but I donít believe in souls.


     You can sob about it.

     You can weep about it.

     You can burn sad mix CDs.

     Youíre welcome

           to your nervous breakdown.


         you ought to try to understand her,

                    since you think itís her you crave.


             Maybe Iím the bastard;

            itís a role Iíve learned to play.

    I used to be like you,

                  loving selflessly.

       But by 16, Iíd realized

              itís not

                      what women want.


    If you want, you can keep feeling morally superior,

            but you canít complain

                 about the pain

               that comes with it.  Just donít pretend

          youíre not a masochist, a boy

                    who doesnít know

                        the woman

               at whose feet he pleads.

  Having been there half my life ago,

                              I sympathize

                                but cannot pity.


              Itís possible, in choosing me,

           sheís punishing herself,

                hating herself

                     for pushing a good man

                                        like you


            seeking out instead

                         my honest cruelty.

    The possibility doesnít thrill me,

              but I

                 wonít run

                        from its truth.

            You should take the lesson,

                                            in your pain.

        Perhaps itís the asshole sheís craving.

                    If true,

                       Iím not happy but remain

         content to oblige.


                 You can tell yourself

            youíre the better man,

                              if it helps.

                   Youíd do anything to please her,

           but thatís not what makes her wet.

                  You canít even console yourself

                                           with hating her

             because it makes you feel bad,

                           like youíre selfish,

                                                              like youíre me.

             You give and I take,

                            but she wants to be taken,

                  with my belt tight

                              around her throat

                     and me

                                  pulling it tight, tugging

                     on this animal sucking me,

                              her soft tits, with those big nipples of hers,


                                       against my inner thighs.


           Weíd make fast friends, you and I,

                                                            were you able.

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He dared, the muses said
On Wordsworth and Romantic Assumptions about Poetry
Self-Exile as a Means of Preventing Prophecy
Objets de mťditation
I Want a Girl Like Doctor Doom's
The Ape Cheers at the Bride's Vagina
l'Esprit ťvacuť
But in Her Heart Suspects / And How Much Heíd Like
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Godís Five-Fingered Hand, American
Old Silt
A Post-Colonial Tea
Julian the Philosopher
Growing Chilies
The Problem with Such Self-Congratulation
Songs of Sadness 1
Songs of Sadness 2
Songs of Sadness 3
Songs of Sadness 4
Not a Song of Sadness
Songs of Sadness 5
Songs of Sadness 6
Songs of Sadness 7-9
Songs of Sadness 10
Unrealized Soulmate
Another Original
Letter to the Other Man