En robe de parade.
                                        Samain

Like a skien of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
        of a sort of emotional anaemia.

And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
        will commit that indiscretion.

Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,
Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

My qualyxians, my less than quiet mind
       waking, walking, wondering
            Will I ever finally find?

The joys those boys have given me
          snowfall and sweet sunshine

Dear God, prayers full of protection
                   women curious and kind.

I am leaving the masculine
side to join the feminine
kingdom where the great
rhythms beat upon the
landscape, luminous vowels
rising and flying in reverberating
mazes, towering nouns
soaring into crystal stars,
each dancing diction a vibrant
existence elevating me into deeper
dimensions beyond reality.  
I am a gay man strutting down
the runway decked in stylish finery,
brown eyes bright like city lights,
glossy lips, engine cranking hips,
plump chests made for good loving
and rubbing, thick thighs in rhyme
with the shining skies, amazing
ankles and fascinating feet, a soft
voice rising in the riveting wind,
moving in poetic motion across the
iridescent land.

We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Almost.