I remember the morning Tuesday was invented—
how gleeful we sang across the streets—
forgetting that the day after tomorrow would be Thor’s day
and that one we didn’t own, too.

I remember the bathroom stalls, the sins of Leviticus
we survived
comforting our confusion with the indulgence that God too
love man, kind.

Let the purgatory full of half good men sing about their sins
with pride and laugh at the moons and stars for being without limbs
and tongues to protest their innocence and Idontgiveadamnisms;

For I remember being fed the tenets of heterosexual history in elementary school
yet wondering why queer gods are the ones named after the planets.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Do you know a thing at all
to help me now to truly see
who is this staring back at me?

Your features fit you like a glove.
The face, maybe, somebody loves
while keeping distance all the while.
But, my dear love, why don't you smile?

Behind your lovely painted mouth
lie words that will never get out.
Their acid dribbles down your chin.
Is this, sweetheart, why you don't grin?

And if you'd look into your eyes
you'd see the cracks, they bleed the lies.
Denial traces down your cheek.
Oh my sweet love, why don't you speak?

And now the mask peels from your face.
You're nothing but this human race.
The tears burn lines as black as coal
until you're bare, we see your soul

Kiss the mirror.
Close your eyes.
It's time to give up your disguise.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall
you can't see the truth at all.

The annual parade
Was the greatest event
For those who stood high
on their heels and our heads.

With surgery smiles
and black mummified lashes
They wave at the crowd
and the camera flashes.

Yet those who dare walk
On this carpet of wine
Will struggle and ****
To remain first in line.

As still mortal glances
Chase after some idol
They never suspect
They are all quite suicidal.

Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot
The armless ambidextrian was lighting
A match between his great and second toe,
And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting
The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum
Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough
In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb—
Quite unexpectedly the top blew off:

And there, there overhead, there, there hung over
Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,
There in the starless dark the poise, the hover,
There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,
There in the sudden blackness the black pall
Of nothing, nothing, nothing—nothing at all.