February 14

Going to the Russian bathhouse on Innes
to lie naked on a shelf in the steam
while the hatted man
swanning about with a birch branch
prances and lashes my calves and my ass
while you look on grinning
he lashes my chest and my parts and my arms
and flapping his hot birchy air
over finely scratched skin I sing

O muse of flagellation whose ways are formal!
O tingling effusions O circulation
O vivisection of the bum!
submit us to sensation
and deliver us to the pool of cold cold water
our bodies smarting
so our flesh may crawl
without meaning like our lunatic selves
sting like a lover’s pinch
which hurts and is desired

Source: Poetry (June 2025)