chromatographics

gay poems by mb bischoff

#pain

4 poems

incision

half decade wishes: a leveling out. forbidden kisses the right choice, no doubt

central park consult king cole martini review old results discard bikinis

photograph the curves archives in high gloss the things i preserve, they’ll surely just toss

day before phone calls rage at the system its stops, starts, & stalls need to assist him

sleep, holding a heart cleanse every surface wrong name on the chart of course you deserve this

wave as the doors close don’t use the “b” word eat eggs as you doze the artwork looks blurred

a husband’s phone rings let me inside there treat you like a king hold cups as your care

bumpy ride that night late rooftop phone call two beams of bright light never forget fall

a week goes by fast managing your pain see yourself at last straight scars and no drain

i cry more than you do it hits me deeply this thing that you choose didn’t come cheaply

a body transformed like overnight oats years since your plans formed i’ll keep taking notes

poison

the black bottle kept just out of reach of those who fear my obsidian liquid

a toxicology report: deadly in large doses but taken with care the hurting heals us

sure, share a nightcap wince with me in pain we need this to sting no easier, knowing it

small sips are sweet deeper drinks, bitter stone fruit can’t mask a burning this intense

scared to let you see me like this — red eyes pierce pewter framing you want, no, need to

as the spirit fully hits there’s no stopping this             drink. the cork is broken now

camcorder

twentysomething object built to take a beating— recording blurry scenes to wound cassette tapes.

humming with precision opening up when pressed her red button worndown by many careless owners.

secondhand machine with new ways of seeing inside freezing a frame when it can’t take this much in…

an observation device for triangular dynamics that separate signal and static projecting what is actual.

a new lease on life from repairs to its internals, charging, maintenance, & importantly: regular use.

poke

door opens— am i the fool? gloves snap, now i’m playing my role unstained steel tray cradles your tools you wash me clean, i cede control

you sketch small leaves in purple ink i play with you, this is our game when it’s all done, what will they think? art, artist, work— all share a name

calmly you ask “ready for stabs?” there’s not a way for me to know is this your temple or your lab? we share one breath, it’s time to go

your sword and your eyes penetrate music and pain blanket my brain sometimes we should disregulate questions pour out, blood from a vein

hours pass as you make passes pricks turn into private pleasure when we are through, our flesh collapses every mark is made forever