the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...

we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.

I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...

and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.

the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.

Temptation greets you like your naughty friend
So every night this week for the fourth time this week I wonder how often you think of him or her while I’m in your sheets , in between fake concern , right after you ask why I’m in your bed , that person probably pops into your head when I answer that it’s because I’m weak. It’s hard to say that to the person who acts the strongest, so most of the time I’m silent. I don’t know you boy, but I know that you used to get beat so only you can hit me. I do know that you dislike me because deep down there’s him or her who is out of reach and when I say things you see them in me. But I’m a person too, not an object and just because that person isn’t yours to keep doesn’t mean you have to push away everything and anything alike. One day you’ll realize that we were 2 different . Maybe you’ll even want one like me, so you’ll play your game again. The game of making girls in love flee.

Mondays are 1 am cigarette smokes
2 am poetry creations
and a lack of sleep
It’s raiding the fridge but not eating
It’s going outside in your underwear because it’s a MN winter and 55 degrees!
It’s looking in the mirror until each flaw disappears
It’s a bath
a shower
and one more  bath
to feel clean
It’s purging over the toilet and working out
It’s 2 gallons of water
and the pill addiction
no one yet sees
or maybe they just can’t believe because of what monday mornings used to be

A queer man found more beauty in me than anyone I’ve ever slept with
I’m not into jesus or anything but theres some energy inside of your face
He said
I could sense your beauty if I was blind, It’s something you can feel
He said
I would never wish the cement of these streets on anybody
He said
They give you that “I wanna stick my **** in you” look out here
And I thought, they do
He was 1960’s wicca gyspy queer
He was grab your hand in this weather and warm it up magick
He was more confident in me than I was
That’s love
He reaked of Whiskey and said **** the parade
Only if it was a male ofcourse
Oh, how he boasted as a gay
I smiled the most that St.Patricks Day

If walls told stories
you and I’d be the most interesting
During the day theres nothing to say
At night the sinners come out to play

They’d start from the beginning
In the rooms everythings sweating
The walls are damp ,
in between my legs,
the middle of your pants

Our mouths are wet with a formula for ***
Kiss me,
bite my neck,
whats next?
you're *****
I’m wet

Then the sweat freezes over
He rarely sees her
She is submissive
All she does is pleases
Sticks around for no reason

He realizes this
Doesn’t want her
Go away
She refused
“Want me.”
She stays

I think your genes are intertwined with the seasons
Spring, Summer, Fall were hard to believe
Then winter intervenes
Tears turns into icicles
Blind cold rage blocks your ability to see
Choking on snow
causes me to stop breathing
Death is cold
“Death, Do you want me?”