wouldst you in the mist of my confusion
have me become a white mosquito boy
that by a grafted tongue would
mould powerful changes
around bliss and ecstasy
that by garb and candor grafts defying gender roles
causes by his spaces openness
a sexuality, moulding, mounting new and explosive intimacies
and yet my fevered brain
hotter than the hottest summer
wishes to embrace  a white mosquitoe boy
become the cannibal of his dimensions
be subject to his unremarked experiments
Oh, will I become a native of these everyday practices
a white mosquitoe boy
evolving into a public ethic
a dangerously obscure central truth
the ink lies still wet on y confused thinking
while the white mosquitoe boys call me ” Le Mome”
shall I enter their grand boulevards
the ink drys, it speaks
its beautiful wondrous notation
says “YES”, yes it says, it says yes
you don’t become a mosquitoe boy
YOU ARE BORN ONE