BUTT BABIES NEVER LIVE

a poetic autobiography

A massive poetry cycle about life, death, and longing chronicling my life through poems dedicated to the many men I've loved and laid with.

BUTT BABIES NEVER LIVE

Excerpts from David Davila's epic poetic autobiography

PROLOGUE

IN LIEU OF MAKING BABIES I WRITE POEMS

We released our juices into every orifice

the belly button, the ear, the space between the toes

We let it run up and down our anal cavities

We licked it off the floor

We slathered it in like lotion on the skin

Thinking we could somehow absorb it

We let it run its course through our bodies

hoping

praying

needing it

to make us eternal

wishing it could be the easy answer to immortality

But every time we watched again

again

again and again

as it slithered back out each opening

We desperately tried

But

always

Always it turned to nothing

It disappeared almost instantly off of each surface, into the air

as if

it is made of dust

as if

it is the very dust of life

that spends billions of years creating

things

and in an instant makes them vanish

I tried it again

and again

each time hoping that the magic would stick

That I wouldn’t have to die

But still

like you will too

I did.

#1. Michael 10-20-2003

ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON

On a Sunday afternoon

I did not pray

Though I knelt

and I pleaded

and I whispered

and shook

On a Sunday afternoon I did not pray

No,

But

I held my hands for together with God

And sang of old

And serpent’s sad song

I gave into way

And wore my clothes heavily

Like weights they fell hard,

and sank.

And crashed through grounds

And tore through bounds

And led for to sleepers to wake at the quake

On a Sunday afternoon I did not pray

Though I did meditate

And I did love in God.

And I did fall to my knees

And I did bow with grace,

And I did spend the day in love of one world

And I did celebrate

For new love had been made

Yet not without sin

For I did not pray

#40. Untitled 4, Asian Guy in Central Park

A LEAF IN MY BOOT

A leaf in my boot

That was all I had to remind me that I had

had too much to drink the night before

and had fucked a stranger in Central Park

I remember going to the The Web

Shady

Dark

Smelled like dried vomit

and dreams of finding work in America

Cambodian boy Strippers

Immigrants with no papers

maybe starving

selling their bodies

To people like me

Laphroaig on the rocks

with a splash of Coke

He wasn’t interested in me at first

Didn’t even look my way

But I stared him down

Just my type

Sexy little Asian twink

maybe slightly older than a twink

maybe wrinkles around the eyes and ears

maybe it was too dark

and I was too drunk to notice

The night rolled on

The bar emptied out

and I continued my stare until it caught him by surprise

I didn’t look away

I looked through him

red lights

pools shining

step on stale popcorn

and

walk right up to him

Don’t remember his name except that it was something

I couldn’t pronounce

I lean in and kiss him

The pain inside of him

Is equivalent to mine

He doesn’t care who I am

He just wants to dull it

I remember Central Park

I remember the darkness

The stillness of the April night

3 am

No one’s out but drug addicts

It’s not safe to be here

Every noise in the distance

makes my heart race more

But I pull him into the shadows with me

Not caring if it’s my last night

on Earth

Not caring

I try to feel close to nature

I try to look over head and see the stars and the clouds and

NOT the pollution of city lights

I try to stand in the dirt and grass

the bushes and shrubs and recall a history

of men making love

getting down

for generations

in secret

between the brush and the brevity of escape

a time when men

kept their secrets hidden deep within a forest

A time when men had to know

the other men

like them

from a glance of an eye

a tap of a foot

an escape to a park like this park now

Central

Hidden

Not safe at all

No one would venture in

unless they were destitute

So why are we here?

He refuses to take a cab back to my place in Queens

And I’d rather be with him

maybe even get arrested

than sit at home and contemplate suicide

and all of the joys that might come with putting an end to the story

It doesn’t seem to end.

living

continues

endlessly

as I drift

through the haze of city lights

the pollution of cars and endless factories

burning coal and oil over bridges

under water

molding plastic

to make dildos

to keep men from thinking

to keep me from dwelling

I pull down his pants and fuck him in the bushes

He wails some sounds in Japanese

I don’t understand a word

The crack-heads on the boulders beyond the brush

are still

in silence

They hear the pedestrian calls of wildlife

Homosexuals

The natural beings who mate in the dead of night

in a park

surrounded by a metal jungle

surrounded by two rivers

in a land that once majestic

is now

nothing

but lonely

#94. Saad

NEARING TRAGEDY

My life has become unmanageable

I am planning at every corner a way that I might self-destruct

My pain has become unmanageable

The void inside my chest

I made a reservation at the Marriott Fairfield Inn, Times Square

so that I could go spend the night

looking for trade

looking for ass

Bare Back ass

Unsafe ass

I turned on all of my mobile dating devices and put up advertisements

BB Top,

Rimmer

hosting @ the Marriott

Scruffy Latino

5’8

Brown/Brown

180 Loves Asian, Latino, All Races, Geeks, Nerds, Smooth, Twinks

Send pictures for room number

I like living dangerously sometimes

Three smooth boys

men, I should say

twinks in their twenties I mean

entered my room

over the course of eight hours

Boy after Boy after Boy

I’d eat their holes, they’d suck me off

the cycle continued

Why have I only chosen to write about the boys that I entered with my penis?

What about the boys that I shared an emotional connection with?

What about my grade school crushes before I ever hit puberty?

What about the heroes who changed my life?

Who changed the world?

What about the three boys who sucked the juice of life from my cock that night

The boys who wanted to forget their own problems?

Who took my seed

for their own reasons

What about the other hundred or more boys whose cocks

I held in my mouth without ever entering them myself?

Who I have purposefully forgotten

because I deemed those shared actions as irrelevant?

what about all of them?

The boys I flirted with at bars?

The boys I stalked on the internet?

Where are their poems?

Why do I have to write a poem about Saad?

Why was he special?

A twenty-one year old Saudi Arabian tourist

here with his family.

Staying at the same hotel

Entering my room and mounting me like a desperate

Eve ready to populate the Earth?

Why him?

He held me as if I were his only chance to ever live

for the rest of his life entire

He shoved my bare cock in his ass

and he rode me like a dying dream - baby

The stubble from his shaved hole

stung with added pleasure

and I shot my load deep inside him

I don’t remember where he shot his

On my chest? I guess…

Does it matter where?

He cried afterwards.

He wasn’t allowed the freedom to be himself where he was from

or something like that

He told his parents he was going for a walk through Times Square

and they believed him

and instead

he came to my room

and lived dangerously with me

What did HE have to lose anyway?

What did I?

There was nothing I hadn’t done

Nothing I had left to try

The end felt eminent at that point

I licked his asshole clean

and kissed him on the mouth

wishing him good luck

back in the Middle East

Then I ordered a pizza

ate my feelings

and went to bed

the smell of rose oil still strong on

the tip of my nose

In the morning I met Ryan for brunch

he who I once thought was the love of my life

he who once told me that he wouldn’t know until the day he died

if I was his greatest love or his greatest lover

or his greatest friend

He was maybe not the love of my life that I wanted him to be

but he was one of the greatest friends

The thought of that sends me down a spiral of famous Rolling Stones tunes.

Ryan tells me to shut up.

I tell him about my night and he makes a joke or three about it.

Did I mention he was a comedian?

He’s like a brother to me now.

A sister really.

I’ve known him for so long.

Our love affair that ended years ago seems like a lifetime away.

Was it another life?

I sing a little Norah Jones tune to him over mimosas and we laugh and ask for another round.