Wednesday, December 23, 2009

And he lived through smoke,
wasted cigarettes,
with a running obsession,
to live and ploy;
Secure young hearts,
and leave them for joy.

He lived for 45 years,
as mad as his obsessions.

He could have had a thought on his last breath,
that could have been,
"Why didn't I?"

He could have decided to stop.
Said, "Stop the drama."
And let death takeover.

No, this could have been more drama for him.

He might have thought.
"What is with my own dramatics?"
"What is with these defined _?"
"What is with you being dramatic?"

Do you think he might have died,
silently among exuberant folks,
lost in their own sweet world,
caring less enough for the braggart
they thought him to be?

What would his last thought have been,
in that case?
was he allowed one?
or did he die with his paranoid self?

He should have lived.
Shred and lived.
Less of obsessions,
more expression
love for people
hate for people
as a normal being.

He could have,
not lied to himself that he wasn't any of that.


Smell of God
in my pockets;
I pull out my hands from them,
and there I found an assurance.


There is something gay (old usage) and wrenching about the photograph of a happy gay couple.

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