Untitled

trying to convince the unconvinceable
with such precise precision presiding over each decision
of where to place, where to position each repetition -
i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you
of where to place, where to position each repetition -
i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you

each meeting always mixed
with the fixed idea of who did what and where and to whom
always erupting, disrupting our speech as we each preach
to the other as if a mother admonishing her child

confrontation compounding compounding compounding until
rationality and its counter clash into a crash
into a frantic dash of emotion and the notion of who was always right
and we fight into the night not knowing
it was neither you
nor I who was always right

those long long nights filled with fights
only accomplished one thing
always always always
causing compromise to end in goodbyes

Perched on the Fridge

perched on the fridge

the Cat peered down

and watched

i always wondered what it was he saw

i chopped the cheese

a yellow chunk

carved into something new

he peeled the potatoes

brown skin

spiraling into the garbage

when he had finished he said he wanted more

by asking if i wanted more

i had told you already, “No,

I don’t want more.”

but again you repeated repeated re peat ed

the Cat smiled

he knew the game all too well

Tiara

Peter died in a paper tiara
cut from a book of princess paper dolls;
he loved royalty, sashes

and jewels. I don’t know
he said, when he woke up in the hospice,
I was watching the Bette Davis film festival

on Channel 57 and then–
At the wake, the tension broke
when someone guessed

the casket closed because
he was in there in a big wig
and heels, and someone said,

You know he’s always late,
he probably isn’t here yet –
he’s still fixing his makeup.

And someone said he asked for it.
Asked for it–
when all he did was go down

into the salt tide
of wanting as much as he wanted,
giving himself over so drunk

or stoned it almost didn’t matter who,
though they were beautiful,
stampeding into him in the simple,

ravishing music of their hurry.
I think heaven is perfect stasis
poised over the realms of desire,

where dreaming and waking men lie
on the grass while wet horses
roam among them, huge fragments

of the music we die into
in the body’s paradise.
Sometimes we wake not knowing

how we came to lie here,
or who has crowned us with these temporary,
precious stones. And given

the world’s perfectly turned shoulders,
the deep hollows blued by longing,
given the irreplaceable silk

of horses rippling in orchards,
fruit thundering and chiming down,
given the ordinary marvels of form

and gravity, what could he do,
what could any of us ever do
but ask for it?

By Mark Doty

God Hates Fags Like You

He hates those fuckin fags
their hags and prada bags
in their juicy couture
with white speckled faux fur

who’ll fuck any queer
after just a single beer

twice since easter
at least or
maybe more…
could be four
fags he’s sucked and fucked
around with
in alleys, valleys, and sally’s
boutique shop

God hates fags like you
who live life without a clue
of the dew that wets the grass
of the blue that tints the glass

that reflects a million images of you

God hates fags like you

in this way,
He and i are the same

3am: still sleepy eyed

3am: still sleepy eyed
i glance down
at that yellow daisy, still
wrapped with a bow
as i reach for the milk and spill
tiny droplets trickle down
tiny droplets trickle down

a petal withered, a petal fallen
he loves me, he loves me not

i peer out the window, the one above the sink
whose faucet drips, sometimes
when i remember to listen, sometimes

there is no moon tonight
stars lay hidden beneath a blanket of unknown
desires pulled up to chin height
darkness lies everywhere except
for the light of that shy bulb in the fridge

a petal withered, a petal fallen
he loves me, he loves me not

Never been much into...

Generou$ hosting now… Do you play for pay?

Cum on over, I’ve got a gloryhole in my apt…

Cover your face, close your eyes

PNP for M4M… just another NSA, one night stand

I wade around in a sea of acronyms…

Surrounded by queens and queers

Straight-acting, fems, bitches, and “daddies”

I have a dad… thank you very much

Bears scare me; cubs are adorable

They laughed when I said

I just saw one at the zoo

JK… LOL

JK… LOL

A Light Flickers

a light flickers

rocks sit motionless

to be

never been much help to me

the intrinsic nature of the sun

it shines

not always been that bright

to me

the light still flickers and the rock still sits

i stand

sometimes half way

on that rock

under the light

where the sun shines not so bright

bit by bit

with my feathers fanned

i say

turn the lock

i’ve fought the fight

Solitary Confinement

half empty whiskey bottles

cigarette butts strewn about

like candy wrappers

ashes fall like snow

another drink another drag

each sweet choking inhalation

a pat on the back a slap in the face

fulfilling its purpose

one hand shakes the other

solitary confinement