Eric Norris was born in Buffalo, NY, in 1968. He is 42 and
works as a law librarian in New York City. He swims, he runs,
he travels, and he studies Japanese in his spare time. Eric's
work has appeared in The Raintown Review, Assaracus, Q-Review,
The Barefoot Muse, Ganymede, Bay Windows and the anthology,
This New Breed: Gents, Badboys & Barbarians, published by
Windstorm Creative Press. His strange little chapbook, Terence,
a comic translation of A Shropshire Lad, is available on

Four Poems for Gavin Dillard

Pan and Poet
After Yeats

A sudden violent seizure: from behind,
The pitiless priapic scent of goat
Thrust in so deeply that it stabbed my mind.
Grunting, hairy, hard, around my throat

A filthy human bicep bulged—crushed
My trachea. We tumbled in the mud,
Joined at the hip, man and myth, in a rush
Of terrible ferocity. Like blood,

The brutal music Pan abandoned there
Did not depart with his receding hoof
Prints in the woods. This was just our first

Real encounter. Matted in my hair,
One animal remained. And, with a shove,
Forced me to couple, crying, with the earth.

The Dance of Shiva

Before this world was formed, I played a role
Hitherto reserved only for darkness:
I was the void in which you poured your soul.

I am the first, the last, the beautiful
Truth—Keats's amphora—I shall outlast
All other vessels. Nothing, that's my role

In the great cosmic drama. I'm the whole
Of time itself set spinning by your presence.
I was the void in which you poured your soul

So long ago—before a god could hold
A paltry thing like man and love him as
His equal. Let's give warmth a larger role

In this new universe. Space was so cold,
So lifeless, dark and empty in the past.
I was the void in which you poured your soul—

The mouth, the Milky Way, the gloryhole—
Ten thousand other gods have used. But that's
The past. I am nothing again. My role
Tonight is infinite. Come fill my soul.

The Difference

Our spasms of orgasm past,
Your cock slips slowly from my ass,
Dribbling a little lube and cum,
Laying its head on my scrotum—
To catch his breath, evaluate
What happens next: fuck or mate?

Nude, or naked, in a bed
I have prepared inside my head,
The question now occurs to me—
Fuck or mate? It's actually
A silly question, is it not?
Love or sex, our wads are shot.

But resting on me, like a kiss,
I wonder what the difference is?
The tablespoon of sperm beneath
My belly says, so I believe,
It's biological between us—
Animal. That's all. My penis

Nods—he agrees. My dick agrees
With everyone. Each passing breeze
Excites him. But I can't ignore
Love's vast complexity—how warm
I feel inside. There I get stuck:
Animals mate. I want to fuck.


I am learning how to bleed
Without clotting. To be myself,
In other words, submit to what
My heart is telling me. You are
The most irritating prick I've
Never met. You won't stop poking
Your nose in my most private parts.
You should be crucified. You

Ask for blood. Well, here it is.
Just leave my veins running in-
Definitely. I won't run out.
I know I love you, since you bring
No peace of mind, no solace, no-
Thing, but insomnia and
Strange fevers at odd hours. God
Damn your appetite. Your mouth.

This is what I look forward to.
Torment. Waking up at 4:00
A.M., checking my e-mail
To see if you have written. No.
You shit and trample on my dreams
Even when you say nice things.
Absurd. You—you sleep peacefully
A million miles away. That is

Not fair. That is not fair at all.
So I am sending a cloud of
Mosquitoes to drive you mad.
A few may have malaria,
So you had better smack the right ones.
They will be there, biting you,
Buzzing in your ears tonight,
So you can feel what I feel. Now.

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