Dear white boy,

Do “I hate you” and “I love you” mean the same to you?

Because it seems to me at times, you may confuse the two

You’re the type of boy who’d fuck me thinking “Nigger”

Who’d ask again and again if black men’s cocks are bigger

I see you

Walking like you own the place,

Like god cried in the heavens the day that your face

Cracked open your mother’s legs so you could stand before me and say

“I hate you”

Boy, Imma laugh in your face.

To the woman ogling us at the bar:

I bet we turn you on

I’m sorry to take it there,

But that’s just how it is

Imagine!

Three queers on a couch

Splayed out across one another

Cuddled, cozy, content

Unafraid of your stare,

Welcoming it even

Something curious

To poke and

Mock and wonder at

We think,

“I wonder what’s hidden beneath it?”

This fluttering stare,

Are you dissatisfied  with your mediocre?

Contemplating

What other roads you wanted to take ?

Were too afraid to take?

Made too many mistakes to make?

Afraid of the fluttering stares

From women and husbands in

Bars and parks

And streets and shops

And hospitals and schools and

Afraid of being beaten into

Submission day after day,

Afraid of a world which tells you,

“You can’t love this way.”

Because society says it should be so

“And that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

Or so they say

Instead, you look across the table

Play with your straw

And wonder

At the life you chose your partner

Sits across from you, guzzling beer

Absently you notice some of it

Miss his mouth

Dribble down his chin onto his shirt

You forgotten, him oblivious

His eyes refuse to part

From the large screen fixed above the bar

You sigh, telling yourself

You’re happy, you’re content,

You have a good life

An old, faded mantra

Your eyes flick back to us

And we think,

I bet we turn you on.

Fusion

I am angry. Furious, it would seem. That is this pain that has been lurking beneath the surface of my skin.

I smashed my body yesterday and I want to do it again. To feel it again. That abandon. That adrenaline. To feel another part of myself speak. I’d like to hear what they have to say. Reckless and rageful and they have been missing for quite some time.

I’m glad they finally showed up.

Hazy.


The other night I was sitting at the bar

Talking to a person who I am seeing, but not dating
Because these days, that actually makes a difference

We were talking about the space in between
Where thoughts happen and where they occur

What I mean is, the thought that inspires the thing
And the place where that thing becomes itself

Which is the truth?
Where is the truth?

The truth is in the space between

Which we will never fully grasp
Never quite see or catch
Hazy, but
It is also in the beginning and ending
Truth lives in all three
Birth and death
Life being, of course, the space between

What we can’t see
Where we can’t see

I dreamt I went shopping the other night
I was walking down the aisles of a grocery store
The light was bright, garish
Overwhelming

I couldn’t find what I was looking for
I can never find what I am looking for

I’m the type of person who has difficulty lighting a cigarette
Always standing in the wind, stifling the flame
I strike the flint once, twice, three times before shifting
Positions

Trying again.

6am

It’s six o’clock and I’m tired of the way you make me feel, old and hungry and sad.  A useless combination. I cleared off my desk today.  I like to pretend that it will help me work.  If I have a space, dedicated, committed.  I like to use synonyms, back to back.  Because life is all about nuances.  Slight differences changing one thing from another.  A truck stops on the side of the street. To let pedestrians pass. It’s snowing out. They walk, arm in arm.  Linked. Should they fall, their fates are likely intertwined.  Unless they’re lucky or strong.  Folks don’t seem to be both anymore.

Bon Nuit

You told me goodnight in five different languages

Sleep clung to the edges of our eyes, and of our lips

As your voice scratched out the words

Hoarse from loving and laughing, at each other and with each other

I asked you to repeat it in Russian, your native tongue

I wanted to hear again

How your tongue formed the words,

Wanted to watch your lips push them out

I love to watch what your mouth can do.