My body double showed up on my behalf to read the following poem at David Bell’s Poetry Slam on April 22, 2013 inside his studio in downtown Los Angeles, by Jonathon Hornedo
I read online somewhere,
without verifying elsewhere,
that many of the stars we see at night
are not individual stars
but clusters of usually two or three or more.
Their starlight travels across space and time,
converging into what to us looks like one thing,
one single point of light.
And John Stuart Mill said
that a man may have been named John
because that was the name of his father.
A town may have been named Dartmouth
because it is situated at the mouth of the Dart.
But if sand should choke up the mouth of the river,
or an earthquake change its course,
and remove it to a distance from the town,
the name of the town would not necessarily be changed.
And because the man of the twenty-first century
is a multi-tasker,
I’m thinking about these things
while another dude and I are groping a nude blond woman
in the entrance hall
at her house in Santa Monica.
I’m sucking on the woman’s chest,
trying to give her fake boobs a track of hickies
and this guy Todd—who I have never met before in my life—
is nude with only a white t-shirt on his head
and moaning while the blond woman fondles his balls.
and the cocaine
and the alcohol
are making me do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do
and I unbutton my pants,
and the blond woman turns to hump me,
and she moans in ecstatic stupor
and I get down on my knees,
positioning myself underneath her bald pussy
so I can lick it
and all of a sudden I’m also underneath Todd’s erect cock,
the shaft twitching up to a firm erection,
its shadow cast over my eyes
and he’s getting ready to put it in
and I’m uncomfortable in this position
so I stand up again
and begin rubbing my cock across the woman’s bare stomach.
Then for some reason Todd stops what he’s doing,
and the blond woman stops moaning,
and I look at both of their faces,
and I know instantly that something unanticipated is happening
because they are looking over my shoulder
towards the front door
that I hear open, then close.
My first thought is oh fuck
and I’m thinking that the woman’s boyfriend
and he’s probably behind me already,
and I close my eyes,
bracing myself for the fatal punches
that would land on me like a violent meteor shower,
and I’m thinking that this would be a good time to stop the scene
and have my body double finish this off for me
but everything happens too fast for the switch to happen
because the facts all belong only to the task
and not to its performance.
And when two lights converge into one,
and when names change in meaning,
and when the referent of a name is fixed,
it does not matter where,
or on who,
or on which object
the meteor shower lands.