IN HIS CUPS
A sip of wine
A hint of melody …
Melt into lavaflows
Unleash unadmitted yearnings
Challenge this paltry masquerade
Yelled from minaret or pulpit
Hounded by fatwa and heresy
Across the centuries, this dented I
Which has, for all of that brouhaha
Such shallow roots
Must be why they ban
These dangerous demons
While we for our part
Fight tooth and nail
To retain or else regain
These royal roads
A HANDFUL OF SEXUALITIES
Four fingers, one thumb.
Various parts; the same hand.
Words; names; attitudes.
Different, not separate.
Cut one off and all feel pain.
A gentle tease. Oh where shall I wander?
Upstairs? Downstairs? In my lady’s chamber?
Pictures within my mind take form, a game.
Hoping that she might be doing the same.
FAIRY TALE WOOD
Boundaries there were
When first I ventured but now
Crumbs eaten by birds
At home in the wood
Where we meet one another
Time and space unborn
MAY REVOLUTION (¡barco a la vista!)
Oh such a permissive month May
Fresh blossom novelties bursting forth
Every which way and where and willy-nilly
Without any “May I”s, or “By-your-leave”s
No, no so bothersome “Riddle-me-why”s
“Just Say No” gone so out of vogue now
Tie-dyed t(r)ees are springing back to life
In a collective shouting of “Just Say Yes”
Or else, more coyly “Just Say Maybe”
“Oh may I, may I, may I please?”
I see women here, yes, but no black folk yet.
One day before I pass over? Il faut espérer.
THE HOLY, THE IV AND THE MILFESTOE
Your crushed misty stockings
Confound shepherds and wise men
O myrrh de famille
Some song! Some performance! (Warning. Sexual content.)
NEXT – Jacques Brel
Naked a sin
An army towel, covering my belly
Some of us weep, some of us howl
Knees turn to jelly, but Next! Next!
I was just a child
A hundred like me
I followed a naked body
A naked body followed me, Next! Next!
I was just a child when my innocence was lost
In a mobile army whorehouse
A gift of the army, free of cost. Next! Next! Next!
Me, I really would have liked a little bit of tenderness
Maybe a word, maybe a smile, maybe some happiness, but Next! Next!
Oh, it was not so tragic
and heaven did not fall
But how much at the time
I hated being there at all, Next! Next!
I still recall the brothel trucks, the flying flags
The queer lieutenant slapped our arses
He’s thinking we are fags. Next! Next! Next!
I swear on the wet head of my
First case of gonorrhea
It is his ugly voice that I forever hear, Next! Next!
A voice that stinks of whiskey, corpses and of mud
The voice of nations
The thick voice of blood, Next! Next!
Since then each woman I have taken into bed
They seem to lie in my arms
And they whisper in my head, Next! Next!
Oh, the naked and the dead
Could hold each others hands
As they watch me dream at night
In a dream that nobody understands
And though I am not dreaming in a voice grown dry ‘n’ hollow
I stand on endless naked lines of the following and the followed
The Next! Next!
One day I’ll cut my legs off
I’ll burn myself alive
I’ll do anything to get out of life, to survive
Not ever to be next, Next! Next!
Not ever to be next, not ever