From CupCakes to Pride Parades

A full day of presentations, workshops, a cup cake and a Pride parade – what more could one ask for 🙂 I sometimes try to pace myself – no back to back sessions but this year I did four in a row starting at 11:15 & finishing around 6:15. with no real lunch break either. I was pleased with myself for getting from the Fairfax to the Woolly Mammoth with no trouble at all. The route I worked out was shorter & faster than the one suggested by Google maps. So there!

Of course I did a Starbucks stop to get a little jolt of energy. First stop at Mammoth was the washroom for a piss & a washroom selfie. Next up was a presentation of poetry as theatre – three artists gave sample song their poetry to stage work. All very different & all very effecting. One saw that process challenges a poet to build a piece that can sustain itself beyond the slam time limit of 3.10 minutes. What if there was 10 minute slam? hmm.

Next was a presentation on Dangerous Art that started with a bit of art history & finished with some readings from Essex Hemphill & wrapped with some poets sharing their dangerous work. What was once considered dangerous by say Botticelli is now pretty safe stuff compared to Mapplethorpe.

Another brief lull and the session I hosted on geriatric writers over the age of 40. A fair turn out & some amazing work was shared. Clearly age doesn’t diminish but sharpens anger. I presents some of the Terra Cotta pieces & my transformation from comic queer to fuck you queer has been accomplished, though the comic hasn’t been abandoned.

Another longer lull & I got out for some sweltering weather, photos & a cup cake. Finally took in an actual hands-on writing workshop. Challenging exercise to write from the point of view of a randomly picked body part. I picked wrists. Then was partnered off with someone who had picked eyes & written about that. Then, this is a bit confusing, we each were to write a piece from our body part to their body part. I loved it.

This brought us up to after 6. I headed back to the hotel & exited into the DC Pride Parade in full swing. How f-ing long is this parade? Pushed through the clouds of rainbows to the Fairfax. Had some water then had to go out to get to CVS for juice & a salad for my supper. Usually CVS is step out go around the corner, cross the street & I’m there. But the streets were blocked so I had to do a circuit around & back. Lots of rainbow eye-candy – but nothing under that rainbow for me. Hey! There’s the start of a new piece – nothing under the rainbow 🙂

ages  names

44 44 58 37 49 47 50 40

 

Selim Esen

Abdulbasir Faizi

Majeed Kayhan

Kirushna Kumar Kanagaratnam

Andrew Kinsman

Dean Lisowick

Soroush Mahmudi

Skandaraj Navaratnam

 

all men

old enough

adults

not teen-age runaways

not ‘I’ll live forever’ twenty somethings

men

one commentator said

‘who should know better’

 

all men

all found dead

two white

6 missed

2 not missed until found dead

1 unnamed even when found dead

 

7 found online

all looking for love

that isn’t clear

all looking for sex

that isn’t clear

some seeking asylum

acceptance

finding limits pushed

but not expecting

to be pushed beyond limit

 

most so fearful

of discovery

they took what they could get

without … I want to say complaint

but no one knows

no one can know

what they were looking for

what they expected

we know what they got

death

 

a talking head on TV said

‘they learned their lesson’

what lesson

that homosexual men

are all sadistic murderous predators

a cliche

once more proved valid

or

dating apps aren’t to be trusted

that searching for sex

deserves to be punished with death

that they got what they deserved

 

they deserve better

than some talking head on TV

shifting blame

from perpetrator

to the dead

Glitter Reflections at #CapFire18

Friday I opted to do nothing – no tourist jaunts to conserve my energy for the Fire start later in the day. After hitting the DuPont club I went over to Ted’s Bulletin on 14th for their big breakfast. After a 10 to 15 minute wait for a table turned into 25 I left – clearly Friday is not a good day for someone wanting a single booth. Busboys & Poets was near by so I had a great burger there.

Rested at hotel. Selected the right shirt for the show. Left around 4:30 to give myself time to get lost finding the venue. Metro was simple enough as I get used to it. I got off at Chinatown/Gallery & even found the right direction on 7th. The maps all made Woolly Mammoth appear to close to 6th & D corner – where in fact it was nearly on the corner for 7th. A bit of walking in circles & I found it 🙂

Got my copy of the Stoked Words anthology. Lots of restaurants to choose from as this was centre of the theatre district. Chicken caesar & back to Woolly. Lots of familiar faces & the same old story. People starting conversations while looking over your shoulder for someone more compelling to talk to. I didn’t even bother trying to respond tho ‘how are you’ knowing full well they wouldn’t stay long enough to hear my response.

One poet asked what pronoun I preferred – which I think is great – but they were offended when I said ‘it.’ Rather than engage they rushed off to hug & chat with fiends who where less ‘challenging.’ It was great to see the Toronto crew though Charlie – in the demanding role of Slam Coordinator; D’Scribe in the demanding role of themself 🙂

The book launch was a true lesson in diversity, voice, style and world-view. With nearly 30 poets – or was it more, I lost count – I felt washed, baptized, sanctified & blessed. I also was reminded that the deeper the suffering the greater the authenticity. I don’t suffer enough, in my writing, to be considered authentic.

 

By the time all the poets had read I was exhausted to the point where I couldn’t hear anymore. Not that I was deaf but I wasn’t able to absorb any more poetry. I made my weary way back to the Fairfax. slipped more than my shoes. Checked my email. Laid down & fell asleep instantly. My sleep was deep and authentic.

on of my pieces in the anthology – not quite as it appears there as I tweaked it while waiting to perform 🙂

Oogie Inferno

if you’re thinkin’ I’m too cool to boogie

boy oh boy have I got news for you

I love the sweaty potential of the dance floor

the solid mass of men mobile  shifting

eagerly crammed     crowded by the bass line

the righteous revival fever of a contralto

everybody here tonight must boogie

let me tell ya’ I was no exception to the rule

the heat was on (burnin’),

rising to the top, huh!

eyes closed    hands open

 

shirtless strutters in sweat soaked satin shorts

muscles      bloated bellies

a guy spinning in circles in his wheelchair

no one cares

as flesh wound around   pulled by the driving

boogie oogie oogie

 

an endless moment of contact high

thigh to thigh contact

the heat was on, rising to the top

where the keyboard was underfoot

put your feet to the beat

peak after peak of solid state sweat

turn this beat around

no voice heard that wasn’t amplified

no time to waste

let’s get this show on the road

listen to the music and let our bodies flow

yowsa yowsa yowsa      dance dance dance

shame shame shame

we were shimmering glittering

ready to take on the future

beep beep toot toot

 

I love the moment of stepping into the mass

the sooner I begin the longer I’ve got to groove

listen to the music and let bodies move

make a space for myself

get approving once overs

then not care who’s lookin’

but when my spark got hot

I heard somebody say

Burn baby burnin’ the house down

gonna boogie oogie oogie

till you just can’t boogie no more

 

I love the blur as I am transported

out the body    out of the mind

satisfaction (uhu hu hu) in the chain reaction

released from all sense of self

except for the one caught       immersed

push push in the bush bush

lost for hours

boogie oogie oogie

 

taking a breather wet glistening

asked what are you on

having my answer of nothing disbelieved

as if the music and testosterone

aren’t enough for me to

burn that cocksucker down

because have I got news for you

this could be the last dance

everybody here tonight must

boogie oogie oogie

Objectify Me, Please

While listening to a recent Disability After Dark in which Andrew Gurza talks with ‘AJ’ Murray I appreciated their wish to be sexually objectified. Both have experienced enough respect for their minds, their ‘bravery’ that they like to be seen as a sex object. Having had enough men tell me they don’t like me ‘in that way’ I have wondered what it would be like to objectified as opposed to objected to 🙂

By objectified I don’t mean body part specific either – there are enough guys into just dick, or bubble butt ass while the only body part they are really into is their own dick or ass. Getting themselves off is what turns them on, not enjoying the other person’s body except as a come receptacle.

Until I passed 50 my sex life was fairly quiet. Opportunity was limited to bars which were geared to drinking, drugging & dancing. Dancing I could do but the other two were not a part of of my life. I wasn’t willing to hang out until 2 a.m. hoping for the best. Then along came the internet saving guys like me the need to on the prowl at 2 a.m. I could be on the search at 2 p.m, if chose to. I learned the lure of the picture, the power of the right camera angle.

I realize that I experience a social context distancing & not the literal physical disregard Andrew & AJ live with. One of the focal points of Andrew’s mission is to make people realize that everyone has sexual needs – that it is time to stop thinking disability neuters people. Dismissing those sexual needs as the least of the disables’ concerns, he wants to be seen & treated as fully human. Plus being as objectified as, say, Chris Hemsworth.

Memory Itch

he stopped  clouted the man beside him

I heard them swearing 

from across the street

I wanted to walk faster 

slower at the same time

to find out what the anger was about

before words could be made out

the smack flashed out

a back of the hand slap

with enough force to stagger the man hit

what the ….

He didn’t have time for reaction 

when he was hit again again

hitting back while falling to the sidewalk 

kicking up and out

people dodge around them

pissed at the nuisance

I wanted to go over   stop things

someone else stepped in

I’ll call the cops if you keep this up

go ahead buddy the one hit laughed 

go right ahead

why was he laughing

blood dribbling on his chin

someone had a cellphone 

were they calling or taking pictures

I kept going 

my hands fists in my coat pocket

darting looks on either side of me

strangers cold and determined

I longed to be one of these indifferent ones

but I wasn’t

their hands didn’t sting itch

with memory the way mine did

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


http://www.queerslam.com

every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
 capfireslam.org 

September  or October TBA – The Art Bar, Free Times Cafe

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/topoet

 

Only Real After Midnight

samprules2

Working through the  227 Rules For Monks. Who knew the simple life could be so complex. This another of the 92 pācittiyas.

Only Real After Midnight

he didn’t understand

that too late is too late

that too late had nothing to do

with my desire for him

with my affection for him

it was about my desire for sleep

my affection for walking up

clear headed and well-rested

 

he insisted that it was proof 

of my lack of real interest

that midnight wasn’t that late

only boring guys

went to bed that early

gay life didn’t get into full swing

until it was moonlight

 

I recalled my disco days

when getting to a bar before eleven

made one look desperate

the place would be empty

filled with loud music

get there at midnight

and the crowd was starting flow

by 1 a.m. it was a packed house

 

that was the gay life

I left to those that enjoyed it

just because I was man enough

to take it

didn’t mean I had to take it

like I didn’t have to take 

his definition of desire

being only real after midnight

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/topoet

Mystery in the Dust

 

Mystery in the Dust

dust on the box 

cardboard

the dark of the shelf

the seclusion of the resting place

unseen

untouched

unmoved

since it was put there

out of the way

sealed for protection

until its contents was needed

on that rainy day

it never rained enough

 

now some ten years later

that need went unfelt

the dust undisturbed

the contents a mystery

options

keep it

open it

discard it without a look

let go of the unknown

gift it

sell it

 

the space it takes

isn’t needed for anything 

why hold on

does it hold back

does it lead

to other unopened

forgotten pieces of the past

whose past

no writing on the box

no indication of who

put it there

or when

except for the dust

There is real life experience behind this piece. There was a box on a shelf in my basement that went unopened for more than ten years. It had no marking but one gentle shake reminded me what was in it – dishes – cup & saucers & such that were part of a dinnerware set. Mugs not tea cups in this house. And by mugs I mean venti not tall. 

I did not open it to make sure I was right. I donated them without looking. It was part of a shift to me holding on to less. I did a major flush of books, tee-shirts, knick-knacks many of which didn’t even have any sentimental hold me. Even those that had emotional resonance for me I let go. I realized I’d rather miss something than hold on it in such a way there no space for new.

I am more of a sentimentalist than I realize but not for objects but for smells or sounds. Hearing Jimmy Gilmer’s Sugar Shack recently (thanks to America on Coffee) I had a wave of non-specific memory from my teen years when this was a big hit. ‘Non-specific’ in that I had no moment to recall but a sense of me hearing it, enjoying it while wearing penny loafers and bulky saggy socks & feeling pretty cool.

 

Similarly the lilies of the valley are in bloom in my front & back gardens. The scent is my Mother – I want to say personified – a memory not tucked away in a dusty box. These things bring back more vividly people places & time than things do. I have some San Francisco mugs but they merely testify that I was there rather than take my mind back to being there.

 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Limitless Limitations

As I’ve aged my sense of my physical limitations has increased though I haven’t always attached an age to  to those changes. For example this winter I accepted that those extreme cold alerts  say ‘children & elderly’ I am the elderly they refer to, even if I don’t think of myself that as ancient. As a result I drastically reduced my night time activities. 

I was fine in my many layered dress for the cold in the daytime – but if it was going to take me as long to get bundled up for the cold as I was going spend when I got somewhere I’d think twice if it was worth the effort. Plus most places don’t provide space for all that extra garb.

Night was worse thanks to slippery sidewalks, people didn’t shovel, or salt the black ice in front of their house, on top of city plows that delighted in mountains that made corners impossible to get over. I’d tackle them in daylight but at night I didn’t want to risk a slip & breaking anything. 

So while listening to a recent Disability After Dark in which Andrew Gurza talks with Scott Jones I appreciated their admissions of grief over their limitation. Although I’m sorry I can’t do winter walks after dark I am grateful I don’t have to negotiate their challenges. But as I get older the things that I used to do that were a part of my self-image have changed that self-image. Knee issues mean they can no longer take the stress of dancing so there goes my dream of So You Think You Can Dance. Issues with my back mean I can’t physically manhandle Andrew, as much as I would like to. 

The episode pushed me to think of how easy it is to discount our actual limitations in the face of what we want to do & then berate & take fault with ourselves. Things change & as they do I move better with those changes as part of progress not as an erosion of the good way things used to be. Dancing with the right man in bed has proved to be more satisfying than dancing in any club.

 

The Mystery

A man on his knees

on a downtown sidewalk

just out of the way

yet where he could be seen

prays

mutters words of supplication

eyes open

looks out from himself

into the world around him

 

on the next street three women

on their knees pray

people in restaurants

slide to their knees

poets in coffee shops

after getting their double double

kneel

whisper prayers

in different words

in different languages

call to different entities

 

they are unafraid

of being seen as ones

who are willing to pray

when the feeling comes upon them

pulling over cars to get out

kneeling in buses

in movie theatres

with pop corn and soft drinks

balanced in their hands

reaching out for a moment

feeling the touch of something

sharing the touch of something

 

those that can’t pray turn away

as if seeing something

that should be done only in private

so as not to remind them

that some people have faith

those that pray often don’t know

what they have faith in

 

they feel the tickle of it in their blood

savour the taste of it

as they utter sweet words 

once they stand

some don’t recall the moment of prayer

 

they know that even if the pause

can’t change the world

can’t end war in our time

for the moment of prayer

they can be changed

in the chaos

in the peace

in the lives around them

and that’s the mystery

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


http://www.queerslam.com

every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
 capfireslam.org 

September or October, Tuesday – feature – The Art Bar, Free Times Cafe

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/topoet

 

Squeeze

samprules2

Working through the  227 Rules For Monks. Who knew the simple life could be so complex. This another of the 92 pācittiyas.

Squeeze

he was squeezing

something on his jaw line

near the left ear

he’d stop

then go back to it

an ingrown hair 

another time he was scratching

a dry patch on his back

scratched until it was raw

but not quite bleedings

sometimes gnawing at finger nail

another time biting at something

on the inside his cheek

not every time we were together

 

we got together every couple of weeks

for food

for making out

it took a few years

before this pattern emerged

one that I recognize

because I was once caught up

in such small acts of self harm 

the pinched pimple

the scratched spot 

I know the odd satisfaction 

they comes from inflicting

tiny persistant

pain

on myself

I have the scar tissue to show for it

 

I was never into big self-harm

burns to the hands

criss-cross slits on the arms

I was satisfied by these

micro-aggressions against myself

against my body

 

I treasure the body

he harms

how do I call attention

his micro-aggressions

I’m not a professional

no one ever called my attention

to how I treated myself 

I kept it too hidden

no one would see

the spot I picked till it bled

eventually that need left

 

not that I’ve seen him bleed

not until he tells me something more

than let’s play

then I’ll know

he wants more than comfort

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/topoet

Simplicity

Simplicity

I can’t remember

the last time I owned

just one of anything

such simplicity 

was never allowed me

 

I try as best I can

to possess less

to be less owned by what I own

when something new comes in

something old must leave

by leave I mean

must be gone

not merely stored away

but donated shared given away

thrown away

reduced slowly

 

but becoming less attached to things

isn’t the way of this world

even though we’re told

things don’t matter

we get judged

by things we acquire

told that if the house burns 

be grateful to be alive

you can’t take it with you

but

you might as well enjoy it while you can

We live in a wasteful culture in which to say you have enough is admitting defeat. Not to want more means one is settling for less than they deserve. This constant seeking is so subtly supported one often doesn’t know where the messages are coming from.

 

Watch any TV show & notice how often the same outfit is worn? In some shows the leads never wear the same clothing from episode to episode. Yet we rarely see the characters shopping for clothes. I recently saw a headline to the effect that so-and-so big-name-star was seen wearing the same outfit they had on last week. Clearly someone’s career is down the tubes.

One of the things that runs through the 227 Rules is a strong anti-capitalistic stance. The perfection of a spiritual path lies in not allowing things to control one but allowing for the need for things i.e. the robe. The push isn’t to transcend but to limit how things constrain us. Sounds easy in theory but in practice it isn’t so easy.

If it weren’t for these 227 prompts some of these thoughts would probably enter my head. I am, like most people, numbed by the constant urging for more to even notice the constant urging for more. Worse yet numb to the consequences, to the fear of being judged, left behind, in the wake of those spending their way to identity & satisfaction. My consumerism is controlled by my finances. I can’t pretend that when I win Lotto Max I won’t indulge in some mindless, foolish, spending. Sometimes Daddy likes a new pair of shoes.

 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

DC Dreaming 2018

Three weeks today to June 8 when Capturing Fire ignites its 8th slam happy weekend with the launch of the landmark anthology Stoked Words. The anthology captures work by the many brilliant poets who have slammed, participated or wore fabulous shirts. Yes, I’m in the anthology. What pieces? You’ll have to wait to find out. Being a US publication it might end up in the Library of Congress!

The launch, workshops & slam are all taking place at The Woolly Mammoth Theatre on D St. NW. Getting there will take me through parts of Washington I have have never seen so there’ll be lots of new photo ops, new exotic Starbucks to discover (as if Starbucks is exotic). Schedule of workshops posted here: https://capfireslam.org/2018-schedule/.

I’m staying at the same hotel, which is steps away from DuPont Circle metro. Google maps tells me its a 45 min walk to the Wooly, which I think is doable, depending on the humidex. I’ve checked for coffee shops & restaurants near the theatre so I’m prepared. If I get lost I’ll have someplace to eat.

A couple of day excursions have been planed. One day will be the zoo. Trying to line up a local guide so I can get some photos of me that aren’t washroom selfies 🙂 The zoo looks to be fun & also within walking distance. Another day I’ll take in the Air & Space museum. Two tourist destinations are all I can enjoy before it feels like duty.

Six Feet Under

a moment of silence

to respect

those who have been silenced

to offer a dignity

a solemnity

all that’s missing

is the hashtag

a #moment of #silence

showing support

without doing #anything

 

by silenced

I don’t mean marginalized

I don’t mean neutralized

I mean murdered

by others

by their own hand

by neglect

by #silent shame

 

where is the moment of retaliation

oh no we can’t do that

that sinks us down to their level

getting even isn’t justice 

it doesn’t get good press

#victimization

gets all the good press

a moment of violence 

of striking back is tut tut not adult

 

we must have silence 

so the healing can begin

why not a moment of vanity

in which we all pull out a mirror

to contemplate our own faces

to see where we fit in

while the screaming is still going on

to figure out why

forgiveness is more fulfilling

that taking the victimizers to task

where was their forgiveness

 

so I don’t forgive

that’s my flaw

I’m called out for being bitter

not understanding enough

unwilling to make a social context

that rationalizes actions

that spring from a troubled childhood

from a drug addled brain

from books of words holy pages

that approves

making victims of others

in the name of righteousness

 

a moment of silence

to prove that I am emotionally more mature

I can take it

I can rise above

the blood soaked streets

an angel of mercy

fuck that

fuck fuck fuck that

 

I don’t care about

perpetrators’ apologies 

how they feel remorse

I don’t want revenge 

I want an eon of silence

not a moment of silence

 

I want it to stop

before we’re all six feet under

 

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


http://www.queerslam.com

every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
 capfireslam.org 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy ice cream in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/topoet

 

Full Frontal

On a recent Disability After Dark Andrew Gurza talks about The Sessions – a movie that made a big splash some years ago dealing with a disabled man & his female sex surrogate. I thoroughly enjoyed Andrew’s scene-by-scene look at The Sessions. A movie which I have not seen – too emotional manipulative for me. I don’t like being forced to feel good.

It was important to hear about a movie from an ‘expert’ – someone who knows about the reality of disability as opposed to some reviewer, critic who is caught up in the drama & not aware of facts. Andrew pretty much likes the emotional content of the movie which resonated with his lived experience. He calls out a few anachronisms (modern wheelchair instead of period one) & also how little the hero’s privacy is respected. 

The other thing which he notes is nudity. He questions why Helen Hunt, the lead actress, get full frontal while John Hawkes, the male lead, gets minimal exposure, even in the sex scenes. This is not unique to this movie though. Showing breast & vagina is not longer so shocking but the male body remains pretty much hidden. Lots of fast ass shots, never the well-lit, lingering shots that female nudity gets.

Female nudity is rarely seen as gratuitous if it fits the story. In Sessions if nudity makes sense for Helen Hunt then nudity makes equal sense John Hawkes should as well, right? This is one of those double-standards. Male performers have to worry about ‘performance anxiety’ or are shy about displaying their cock at all – what if it doesn’t measure up to their fans fantasies. Isn’t that cgi is for? If they can double the cost a film by digitally enhancing the hair of the lead for every scene he’s in, surely a few minutes of cock shouldn’t be an issue.

Or perhaps they wanted to respect the dignity of the disabled man – after all his disability was enough without exploiting his dick, too. When one catches a glimpse of a stars’ cock it is a flash – even when that dick is the supposedly the star: i.e Boogie Nights – where there is ample bared female but a split-second moment of Dirk Diggler’s supposed large cock & even that was a bad fake – they couldn’t afford a stunt cock.

I’ll end this with my favorite big star full-frontal from Fight Club. Brad Pitt appears at least 4 times in a single frame at various points in the film. My vision was so good it caught the first one & thanks to our dvd player I was able to frame-by-frame at the points were Pitt flashed me. That was no stunt cock 🙂

How Deep Is My Love

my love is deeper than Nietzsche

deeper than the gap between 

spiritual fantasy and sexual reality 

deeper than what we all thought the 60’s meant

my love for you is longer than 

the time between knowing 

it isn’t working and ending it

longer than the time between 

ending it and getting over it

I love you more than this shirt look great on me

my love is harder than 

peanut brittle in Arctic moonlight

my love is more hopeful than 

an overflowing recycling bin

my love for you is longer than 

the arm of the law 

holding a restraining order 

my love for you is purer 

than the water in the bottle of 

rapidly disappearing ice shelf 

melted just so you 

could have a sip 

and throw it away

my love for you is purer than a dream

my love for you is purer than 

how you felt 

before you even know the difference

between a care bear and a pubic hair

my love for you is stronger 

than the tang of expresso 

with a flavour shot of almond

to cover that weird burned taste

my love is truer than 

all those Facebook friends 

who rsvp’d they’d be here

my love for you is stronger than 

your need to be loved

my love for you is 

no longer the crime it once was

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6


http://www.queerslam.com

every Tuesday

June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
 capfireslam.org 

September 25, Tuesday – Horror feature – The Art Bar, Free Times Cafe

 

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy ice cream in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

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https://www.tumblr.com/blog/topoet