In bed, I’m the professional type
After sex I try to keep it romantic
I’m not the type of guy to just hand himself
To anyone
“We’re like stardust, so trapped in our canvases”
You slap my head with a Brooklinen pillow
“Shut up; do you want Thai or Indian?”
I want Indian

I light a cigarette after the naan comes
We eat in bed like we’re back in college
I get sauce all over your comforter
You imply it’s fine
On your iPad something big is happening
We’re in a bevy of eternal stimuli
Just like “Infinite Jest” in ’96 predicted
But it’s mine

I was never the type to leave books
Without learning to unwind people
All our stories are like gossamer projections
Of ourselves
I was never the type to lead books
Around my bed just to show other people
All our classics are elite projections
Of the mind
After sex, it’s the same ol’ drama
“Do you want to watch ‘The Crown’ or something?”
I always prefer shots of espresso
After head
“I think love is a depth of understanding”
You pull my pants down and say “Look, undies!”
The elites have produced a strange culture
It’s their bed

“I like to go for walks when I can”
“I love walks; what about hiking, ya do that too?”
“No,” I mumble, shaking my head
“But I used to”
“So much is happenin’ just under the surface
Of the big picture, which is abomin-absymal!”
At the park you talk about the New World Order
While I listen

Words are primarily a type of barter
A trancelike constellation of underlying ardors
Suggesting shared unities inside of
Our pop culture
If I can moonlight as plainsong melodies
Tuned to the chord of Fyodor
While intoning in Murakami’s harmonics
We should End Times
For where could jest go
Circling Shakespeare into the drain
Of the Apocalypse?
For what’s after music
Circling Heaven into the brains
Of the monotonous?

The reason I didn’t text is simple
I’m a specific person with specific needs
Besides, you didn’t text me back first
“Either”
Sorry I left you two messages
I double-texted not out of desperation
I just wanted to see if you were really
Not there

I was never the type to follow others
Without analyzing what I was loomin’ after
What was it about their ever after
That divined me?
I was never the type to plead “ignorance”
While stuffin’ my whims into glass cases
“Ha, look how many loom behind me
Don’t remember”

After sex, it’s infinite laughter
Put ’er up, it’s infinite jest
Where can Diogenes go from here
But the Apocalypse?