Adam Donaldson Powell Posted December 20, 2007 Report Share Posted December 20, 2007 STUD. Responding to the call Of a warm summer night, The muscled youth surveys the Streets from his Oakland stoop With the vigilance of a vulture. He soothes the heat Pervading his loins With beer and cigarettes, And gyrates to rhythms From his Sony Walkman to Intensify his baiting scent. At the passing of each female, He extends greetings and suggestion ? Lastly to a haughty one who Requests that he kindly ?drop dead.? The youth throws a kiss and laughs In sport and self-defence, Until he spies the adoring stare Of another boy, and yells: ?What are you looking at, faggot?!!? AIDS .. ALSO A VAMPIRE?S LAMENT. In the Spring of our rapture, You assuaged my hunger With gallant love-bites and Wept rubescent teardrops As my own offering Cascaded willingly into the Vessel of your thirst. Thereafter, Enchanting midnight promenades, Serenaded by love-sick werewolves, Inevitably climaxed with Splendiferous candlelit repasts Of aristocratic blood plasma And the finest port wines. Magically abducted by the ecstasy Of transfusion and reminiscence, We who are forever young Renewed our vows of Never-ending devotion with All the certainty and bliss Intrinsic to incipient passion. So golden were our halcyon days ? Yet unblemished by the ravages Of over-familiarity and diseased blood, Now yielding insomnious forenoons In separate coffins and Solitary meals under would-be Romantic moonlight. Since our greatest promise Has become your heaviest burden, I look upon eternity as The merciless side-effect Of myopic infatuation ... And dream, perhaps, Of growing old. DRAG QUEEN. You know ? I hardly recognised you Out-of-drag this afternoon! Your clever disguise Enabled you to sit down Before I could run away. You both surprised and intrigued me When you lamented the slow Passage of time ? for I Have often envied and despised Your freedom, and almost fickle Sense of reality. Funny how ... All these years ... I regarded you as crazy. But now that we share disillusionment With expectation and time, I recognize you in myself. DIRTY TALK. Dirty talking shadows in Dimly-lit, smoke-filled bars Stir restless gonads to Suggestion, proposition And sweet, nasty lies. The scent of body sweat Mingles with department store Perfume like oil and water, Leather and silk ? Unlikely, yet strangely magnetic. Oh yeah ... I love the way the lie Exuding from your posing stance Binds my wrists and genitals, Pulling me to my knees; Demanding nameless submission. Across the distance we begin a Sultry dance of anonymous flirtation: I turn to catch your stare, You look away; My eyes drop to my cocktail, Yours slowly scan my torso and loins. I acknowledge with a smile and you Walk away because I broke the rules, Was too eager to collude fantasy With reality and was, therefore, unsafe. You feign indifference as you watch me Leave with another two hours later. And I?m already half-spent as I prepare to torpedo our dirty talk Into the bowels of my compromise. BLADE. Our dance is ritual; A senseless obsession Between two moths Playing with fire. No chains, no whips Just bondage ... and the Ever-sweet consequence of A sabre?s cutting edge. ANOTHER AMERICA. Few Americans know tha The face of Miss Liberty Is actually that of a Frenchman?s bigot mother. Like the masses of immigrants who Yearly forsake old world for new, We too see majesty of choice Through all-too-childish eyes: ?Rustler, hustler, bankerman, anchorman, cop, fag, redneck, punk; baglady, bastardbaby, stockbroker, chimneystoker, doctor, lawyer, plumber, drunk.? Yes, we?re all watching you, America ... with Mom?s apple pie On the kitchen table and the Girl next door at our side. One nation, trusting in God Down to our last hard-earned dollar. ?Careful not to step on the crack ... broken backs are hard to mend!? But the sons of Genet are most Grateful for the vigilant Two-in-a-thousand who Cross the seas frequently And dream of another America. FOR THE BOYS (WITH AIDS). To friends who don?t know And strangers who do not care, Soldiers of love worship Tinsel-town sex goddesses With all their strength. They thrive outwardly on The rantings of Madonna and Privately soothe their pain And hopelessness with sombre Strains by Leonard Cohen. Their greatest ambition is To shake the shackles of shame Which imprison and threaten Them with the most undignified Fate of all: namelessness. To some there is no irony in death, But others are enraged at the Uncanny plight of these handsome Living dead, whose only crime was Need for love and recognition. HYACINTH. Each Spring, Appolonian tears of lamentation Collect as sanguine dewdrop Upon the verdant slopes of Olympus. Nurtured by the glory of the elements, The resplendent rebirth of Hyakinthos Is made manifest throughout the four quarters In carillons of sapphire blossoms. The petals of these bell towers Cense the air sublime with The Spirit of the Great Mother And the legend of creation. In memoriam, the fugitive solar discus Lay forever fixed in the heavens As a symbol of love made Divine Through resurrection. Quote Link to comment
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