Monday, November 23, 2015


I attempt the tango.

     If I had it to do all over again, I think I would
     choose a career in the sex industry.
                                                            —Franz Wright

This was supposed to be fun.
I wish that I could say that I
don’t pay so much attention
to my environment.  As I
scrutinize everything with-
in my purview, I segue into
the plan for tonight: cooking
dinner for everyone.  I’ve
been so utterly happy lately
(don’t look—I’m rolling my
eyeballs all the way back
towards my brain again).
But I’ve found a remedy
for happiness.  Overtime
creates negative space.
Whoops!  Be careful not
to complain.  But if you
do (ah, bachelorhood),
the top of my list is
going to be therapy.
He’s a brutal boy,
Also, I’m waiting,
cruising, so much
further than ever
before (overwhelmingly,
you silly pilot!)....  Also, 
I’ve gone green (like gays
everywhere; I’m such a
follower).  Or is it guys
everywhere?  Thank you
for not being alone and
depressed on Sunday night,
peering into Castro Station
at the bitter end of Pride
Weekend, which is an
oxymoron, like me
passing out afterwards.
Currently, I’m passing out
flyers for a dying dragon.
And Lady Sinatra’s boots.