Ockham's Razor Suggests

John Fry

a mostly ditched tornado season

day like this one. except less likely

late summer’s case, South Texas.

bougainvillea caught fire. some evening

when I first held a man’s

                    breath, hot

in my mouth. insistent

                            against each other

      arms, hands brush at dusk

                like fish flashing when scales catch

moon, by water’s

ripples. unzippered

                        clumsy fingers that tried

                                    voguing to the dance of rush

                groins pressed together—clothed

                        of course before that first

                                    time—sand in the hourglass blown

                suspended in the present participle

                        every skin cell opened its eyes

                                   pupils widened the naked instant

                hard of my hip met the also

hairy beholding hairy

glory not of same

—simply his skin

kisses slingshot me

past the Pleiades

buckles thunk together

percussive clang yet

not quite right

rhythm for swimmers

                                        suddenly in the dark

both bodies sleek

slick with—yes

touching was when

                    more electrically alive

            at a subatomic level

                                   ionic as in the charge

                fuzz on fuzz

static strikes a spark

sometimes. heat lights

his body’s cartography

my instrumentalist hands

memorized. put my mouth on

what had been forbidden

                              smelling like the muskiest parts of us

ever since my bibled beginning—

                          an almost humid hour inland from the Gulf


first year we couldn’t be jailed for


had its way with us. for the first


vaporlit night w/a ring around the moon


utterly familiar as our own in each other’s hands


each other’s cock astonishingly unfamiliar


as recently as the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo


everything south of the Nueces was México


now do you—almost wrote


where—understand what I mean

about the author