It isn’t difficult for me to imagine why it might
be that, outward action done for the night, Abby
would stand outside Mary’s glass-paneled,
completely curtained double doors, & listen to
us making love. All this time later, I see it as
a manifestation-in-action of The Lost Twins,
from Abby’s own vaunted masterpiece, rising
to the surface of Abby’s brain, & asserting their
presence. The male-leaning twin laughs at all
the pushing & grunting, the sleazy cheesiness
of what I have between my legs (she has one too),
as though I thought it made me big in the world
(it did not) to bang away at Mary as if the world
depended on it. The profound dumbness of sex
& sexual intercourse mixed with the pride of her
own phallic presence in the world, doing an even
more manly routine of being split, being two
people at once, and making both of them thrust
through the surface of human life, into art
taken from two places, willed into brilliant
singularity, in a way the grunting moron could
never understand. The male-leaning twin wins.
The real girl twin remains a coy maiden, building
up the guts to let herself into bed with me,
jealous of Mary’s easy submissiveness, as though
to the manner born, of letting the man be the man,
however dumb, & riding the waves towards twin
peaks, rather than Lost Twins, behind glass doors.
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