In the past a couple of months I’ve been chatted up by a couple guys whose need for ‘safe’ sex has become, to me, more about internalized sex-o- or even homo-phobia.

SanF climbing the walls

Both needed reassurance that I was negative and that I had no recent sexual contact with anyone who was poz. By recent they mean years ago. When I couldn’t guarantee that I hadn’t they were no longer interested – fear of contracting HIV was their excuse.

I shrugged. It’s not up to me to educate them on safety protocols and risk factors. Making out with or jacking off a poz guy while he sucks you off isn’t a very high risk factor for HIV.

crack wise crack?

Then I realized what they wanted was someone to have sex with without worrying about any safety protocols. They also expected me to take their word on their status while I was being honest about mine. Asking when I last got tested etc. As if I’m going to send a pdf of results. With stats tipping on the increased infection rate I wonder if this is one of the reasons.

lamp lamp unto mine eyes

I understand the need for caution, trust me I am careful. I also realized that these guys were looking for reasons not to have sex – perhaps they wanted to be wanted, to express desire & then not have sex is pretty safe. Ultimately they seemed too stupid for me to want to get naked with them.





day 1


there’s a fog on the city

that cat paw

plays with the dusky sun

fog smog

can’t tell the difference

it smudges the high rises

takes away a bit of the bitter ambition

of polished steel and glass


day 2


one can almost see it breath

this deep thin thick white yellow mist

trees steam

as it settles closer and closer

to the ground

a cloud come for lunch

a crow moves uncertain

a new world to fit

cover the old world

fuzzy damp slick


day 5


everything has a new tactile identity

even the sidewalk under foot

has a membrane over it

nothing is cut and dry

the fog smog becomes a night

white damp

hands reach out to move foreward

looking for a familiar wall

feet tentatively feeling for stairs up or down

a curb

car lights barely penetrate

traffic lights useless

police whistles


as things grind to a stop


day 12


skin decaying with the constant damp

fungus boils between toes

behind ears

skin aches for sun for true light

the mist continues impassive

it develops a weight of its own

holds you down

keeps you in your chair

seeps under doors

fills rooms

makes TV dim

hides the computer monitor from you

ink blots

pens tear paper

damp soggy paper

nothing can been read




lungs congested

with this new atmosphere

fetid  stifling


day 33


people gaspn collapse

in stairwells

behind the wheels of their car

one by one


caught in the chill

unaware unprepared

ready for the big one

not for the big wet one

by the time the wind arrives

it will arrive

won’t it

there will be a fresh wind some day

won’t there


day 124


some of us survived

rose high in tall buildings

crept out on to roofs


the mist wasn’t quite so thick

we stood to look down

around us

an island above

a vague city



the ground level under not water

but cloud

not sure

how to save

just pray for a wind

pray for a new sun

to burn away the fog smog

danger caught in our throats


day 125



each of us cough

no power

nothing to eat

all infested by the damp

deserted by all except ambition

buriedsnowed under

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr


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