a poem for today, 2 June 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of nine sentences and its image]
You piece of trash.
The more I see, the less I know for sure.
In this dream, I found myself making love to a strange man.
Thousands of girls sit watching him in dark movie houses, go home and they dream about him in dark little bedrooms.
Mental habits have a tendency toward inertia, and these habits resist change that, in retrospect, seems conceptually required.
Being queer is like being on a lifetime assignment as a secret agent in some foreign country.
As for you, my fine friend, you're a victim of disorganized thinking.
Collecting pictures of beautiful boys is all I do in this cell.
Save yourself mammal, we will fend off the asteroids.
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