Tonight I was born Chrix at Taco
Bell. Two shredded chicken soft tacos
and a bean burrito. Burritos are tacos.
I think about the young man on the
hookup app and how this is such a
specific early time after the orgy.
The orgy is technology. After the orgy,
predicates. I tried to upsell the hookup,
a movie. He sent me three more pictures
with vastly different haircuts. What will
I get? He says he’s interested, all week.
But he only has time to stop by when
I’m not around. I don’t tell him I’m in
full suspense, suspension of belief. I get
the last time he logged in by the app —
a matter of hours. He gets mine. I’m
mostly only checking his movement cross
boroughs. I want more than naked late
afternoon lunch. Hoop Dreams, A Chorus
Line, Calendar Boy, Yo Yo Yo. What a
pastiche of montage. I want to cut
him in the screening room. I want
to communicate to him that I want
this. This is our medium, my line
while he worships me.