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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
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
to make us eternal
wishing it could be the easy answer to immortality
But every time we watched again
again and again
as it slithered back out each opening
We desperately tried
Always it turned to nothing
It disappeared almost instantly off of each surface, into the air
it is made of dust
it is the very dust of life
that spends billions of years creating
and in an instant makes them vanish
I tried it again
each time hoping that the magic would stick
That I wouldn’t have to die
like you will too
#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
On a Sunday afternoon I did not pray
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 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
Smelled like dried vomit
and dreams of finding work in America
Cambodian boy Strippers
Immigrants with no papers
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
step on stale popcorn
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
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
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
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
from a glance of an eye
a tap of a foot
an escape to a park like this park now
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.
as I drift
through the haze of city lights
the pollution of cars and endless factories
burning coal and oil over bridges
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
They hear the pedestrian calls of wildlife
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
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
I turned on all of my mobile dating devices and put up advertisements
hosting @ the Marriott
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?
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
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.
Ryan’s always good for laughs.
I stop for a minute staring into space.
What’s wrong? Ryan asks.
Nothing. I brush off his question with a silly face
but inside I’m deep in thought.
I hope that one day
will find his Ryan.
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