My mouth seeded
with your sperm,
I talked back
to the interviewer.

It may also be this way
with God.
Approach with a mouthful
of stones; you will be mute.
But speak semen & seed
& the words will flow.

Is heaven
a television show?
Everything points to it:
flickering circles of light,
the cloudy dots
that piece the rounded puzzle
of the sky.

"What is your soul about?
Describe it for the viewers
who cant read."
My mouth is hot
with your seed.
& so I speak
as freely as
the Delphic oracle
still stoned on laurel leaves.

"My soul is about a girl
who finds herself.
My soul is growing up.
My soul is no longer
afraid to fly."
(My soul is mine;
my mouth belongs to you)


~SAS