it's 'pride parade,' but,
i go to the ashamed parade;
it's held the first rainy night
in the shrubbery;
no girls allowed.
i'm old school. my ex's died ordinary deaths:
muggings, lynchings, suicide... i like
the days before 'pride sponsered by budweiser,'
before, 'how to tell if your two-year old is gay'
and, "here comes the groom". doom.
my mother and father were married -- talk about an elusive
childhood: my mom would beat, me,
beat the shit...
and dad would sit. my step dad... this place holder dad,
before the pod people came back.
it's about being free,
in my body,
in my mind --
free of anyone
saying how to be me.
i walk down the street, dialecting out the last
humiliating chitter-chat with friendly straights,
being a pet homo, make them laugh... 'so deep'.
walk into that space which walks over rainbows.
making a script: in the house of corridors:
i'm never them. maybe, if danny's parents hadn't,
they came home before we kissed -- before we discovered radium...
boys like us, eleventh grade.
so many maybe's,
maybe if i could jump off the moon! so many fails.
how often do i have to tell myself,
when all it was what he could say?
lips on words,
soft decay of efflorescent -- light to gray.
the river roils and escapades;
easy is the twilight. there's the moon.
live or die, laugh at movies...
if i kiss
or do or cry. doesn't care.
it's not queer,
not profoundly like i am between life and what they say,
to think that marriage
has to do with being gay. a validation.
i loved him...
it's queer. melt your wedding rings,
little day-glo's, puppy prides, black mask hetro's...
stuff that up your rainbow LGBTUVQRXSY, generation gotta have it all.