To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

My head in riddles,
poisonous snakes latch onto every thought,
every feeling, leeching out every essense of
purity until I'm left dry in thrist.

I feel the pressure of the acids pulsating through
every nerve of my living body, slowly torturing,
paralyzing me from the inside out.

But I can still feel the dim flicker of light,
the one feeling, the strongest of them all,
hidden the deep in the caverns of my exsistence.
I will crawl with my fingernails, with every
last breath to reach this light.
I will bleed before I allow myself to become
paraslysed into darkness.

These devious creeping shadows will be cast out,
the abundance of light will take over, I will be free.
I am ready to step into self liberation.

Appeared to be a normal day,
At our University of the Third Age,
Grannies and grandads writing epic lit.,
Forgot our hearing aids and blankets...
We walked away from the class,
Drank our coffees on the grass....
One old moll began this thing,
We cast off inhibitions and wedding rings,
Decided to have a greys' love-in,
One last winter's love fling,
Before hearses the morticians bring,
We were all senile, obese and ga-ga,
Our grey scrawny ***** made us ha-ha,
We gave those grandpas some thrills,
We all forgot our cardiac pills,
The old boys were gasping for breath,
Moribundi, close to death....
So, appeared to be a normal day,
On the grass, after class, at U3A,
Love-in amongst the greys,
It was grey liberation day!!!!

Taken, this only route to the back of something blacker.
I left my fingernails to protest in the floorboard,
stuck, sticking still
white headstones for things I cannot remember.
Pale ghosts of my
tenacity
before it strode cross the threshold into a gentle night.

I piled like garbage in the corner,
an anthill
phenomenally empty.
This, my house of skin,
ice dispensers and salt,
brewing something foul,
I inflate, churning charcoal

in the corner,
out the door,
heaving hell.

All the words are void for fractured eyes;
You don’t have to die to remember why you’re living.
Re-adjust your line.
Fortune’s autograph looping through the winter.

Here you go again,
Thinking that it matters.
Here you go again.

Hesitation cries for all he’s lost.
Gently waves a hand at sad imaginations.
A creaking, creased-up night.
Fold your blue around, stay hidden from his line of sight.

Here you go again,
Thinking that it matters.
Here you go again.

Many fell today for nothingness.
Many rose to find the sky a little wider.
I sent it just in time:
Looking upward now, you hear every vesper.

All that we are.
All we could be.
All that we are.