from HOMOSEXUAL PANIC: David Self, 1985

Monday, July 15, 2019

I imagine the night another way: Knife through the laminate cover of a bible in a bleached kitchen sink. Bruises where the fingers squeeze, then crush a bagged peach. Knife through a framed painting of a sleeping saint. Knife wrapped in burlap, tossed down the stone neck of a backyard well. Perhaps to slit open the starless gut of February, perhaps stowed. Perhaps your name wandering the fields, a lost firefly.  David:  Pendleton.  David: Fort   Thomas.  David: Dayton.

Instead, the night: Neatly disemboweled as winter against the windows. Meeting at Subway Bar, then back to his place.

The night: Fingers, a necklace of bruising. Larynx a squeezed peach. A paring knife, then a cigarette butt lodged in your starless gut. A future & queer wandering the fields.

Monday, July 15, 2019