William Stobb

+/- Portal

                                                                                    “Hey, open the door.”

                                                                                                    Jim James

Belts, gears, and beautiful breasts.

It’s hard to see in Lynchian darkness

you can enter where others will also be:

solarized silk-screen and black disco ball

as if cutting glass caused stars to choose

against ever being born at all.

Surprising degree of blatant pornography:

black & white hand-job in a wicker chair

tucked (as a joke?) in a marriage tableau.

The painter’s line to my body spoke—

scavenging gulls off the stern,

on a rope between a ballerina’s wrists

another ballerina turns. Ravaging spy

in weather personified. Surrounded

by pictures I watch Dee fix: three

leather queens plus one nude grinding

with her own perfect ray-o-graph double.

Oxygen bubble inside the syringe—

decomposed tear in opposite air

like a shadow might breathe

a new life through a gate of teeth.