Tuesday, April 19, 2011

watch me fly

without opening an artery for illusion producing drugs
i am flying high, not on a substance; no—in the air
but while my bliss is not chemically induced
as you will notice if you look me in the eye
my pupils are normal, not pin-pric k nor dilated
so—like a bubble — I rise on the thermals
partly—housed in a miracle of chrome and steel
and unlike train travel, there will be peanut passing maybe
but no tunnels to traverse and if we’re lucky, no jeopardy
and the pilot will be good-looking and the flight attendants
cute as cupcake

To Bleed Straight

My mama took me to rehab
And papa took me to church
The priest said he would
Pray me fixed—I would marry
But still, the hunger begged me

Lust was upon me day
And night; the razor called
Called out my name
My sweet gay name

And slashed my wrists
Bled me straight
Bled me dead

No comments:

Post a Comment