father’s day                       I have your body / hide & seek

I have your body

Masculinity is hidden there – in mine

In yours it’s sought it sweeps it curves with

Predicated beauty

Gracing and disgracing some men’s organs and the

Arms of certain privilege

But I still have your body

The gentle swagger in yours

A droll mince in mine

Your height is there, in moderation –

I struggle with your lows

But they amuse me – their imbibing nature                         make me love harder stronger fast

Keeps me guarded from

The speech of those detractors

Roaming streets in search of bidden gender to defile

But I have your body - to protect my gait

From  the wrath of deconstruction

It was built for you through generations of

Manly presence – by the time I received that gift

Shaded in the bough of your lover’s leafy frame              on father’s day we’ll think of her

Because I have her body too

But some see it wander mimic play -

Mince and swagger high and low

The gentle - droll foundations

Set upon the ways in which we have our bodies –

I have yours – inscribed

On mine

queer play                           Cawthra Park

thrashing, scurrying among rose bushes

missing thorns, oblivious to my guiding calls

suddenly sprinkler  jets jut out into the path

I shout for him to run

to be careful in this stream of prickly stems and unadulterated water spouts

austere columns invite a toddlers  twisting in and out of unintended jungle gyms

memorials flanking one side of the children’s water park and the community centre

he runs his smile wider than parental breadth

grins and thanks me for saving him from the deluge

like wild remembered smiles from those columns – the ghosted names of friends who went too soon

playgrounds bookended by a dearth of generational sway stolen from girls becoming women boys

becoming men, becoming women, becoming men - making way

for the hard won play of new queer youth and all they have to say

grave

an effeminate old man walks by the site

where they laughed at large cysts

on the side of a bald mourners head

burying faces in Nana’s seal coat

tears mistaken for bereavement

when shame from childish laughter

at the unassuming comic matrix of skull and tumor-like ball

covered in breeze swept wisps of graying hair

causes them to cry away their wild childish smiles

the soft sleek touch of a dead animal’s fur on their cheeks

as they flank their grandmother’s comforting arms as she mourns a dead sister

mistaking her grandsons’ masked glee for sadness

later they would lie, side by side in broken twin bunks toppled by the raucous

love for the sinew of their nine year old flesh and bone battling against each other

in soft little fist fights and tight wrestling arms

he taught you how to fold toilet paper in squares saving wasted tissue

for other movements  –  gave you courage in the face of his own masculinity

as it outgrew the lifelong femininity of your fey measured gait - sweet lisp of

strolling in and out of family portraits meant for gendered posterity

both boys among strong women managing men among post war tears

and the hegemonic daze of re-established prowess in a different coat

tiny rebels with unclipped claws  – unaware of the clichés that bound them

to the signifying praxis – the lazy laughter of family plots  where dead relatives lay in waiting

to tell the stories - too  afraid to share tales of other traps and snares

mingling among puzzled thoughts that mix with joy and sorrow

circling cavities containing liquid secretions – growth, blister, vesicle, bleb

pelts collated - conger eel, cuttlefish, coral - pups

in raging juvenilia - hormones leaping - they stood by graves to chuckle, weep, then lie

together aptly plying into adolescence – now he cries for unknown pasts -

there beside that dugout respite

from the playgrounds, rolls of tissue, you still long for shadows

of his stylish manhood – him for your minced swagger - one went out of fashion – flushed

through centuries of bodies laughed at through skin and bone

the sobbing  lyric limbs – limp and wan they warned them not to play with verse

but there they went – hopping skipping jumping into manhood - graveside
having left themselves behind . . .

Pedal Extremities

Pedal Extremities                             or

                                                         honeymoon in a hot tub

cradling the ball of one foot

upon the warmth of his testicles

as they rest in his lap

big toe & long toe

gently join forces

creating gradual force

around his penis

unrequited love

like vise without grip

he suddenly rises

the ends of two toes

pinch the flesh of his sac

he flinches, smiles

sits back down

the courtship is over

 the honeymoon begins…

____________________________

sonnets from the trampoline - 
after Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I

I thought once how my weary heart had sprung,

from the sweet fears, the queer and dishy years,


Where each one in a specious palm adheres

To manicure gay gods from portals, orifices shunned:


And, as my lips lapped up his tongue,


I felt, in gaudy frisson, by his tears,


His cheek, that tremor - mirth and folly sears -

Chosen from my long life, among the taut, well-hung

A shaded ball to cross me.  Shadows make me leer,


Branches limbs,  tawny leafless boughs behoove

Staring hearts, they tug my blanched groin by hairs;


Rapid counter tenors,  faster,  sung the groves,—

“High notes that bind thee!”—“Death,” I shriek, yet, still,


A singing hyphen sprang from meadows slung  

- castration’s hum - “No Death without love’s trampoline -

that crinoline,  those tights, that gutless drum.”

II

When threesomes in diversity converse

Hearing soft moans but nothing worse, -

Having held thread counted sheets at bay in

Titillation’s singsong dread —themselves, astride each other


The I of me stops listening! Just sighs

All three . . . in company with goddesses, . . . we brand with terse

Undarkened lashes, unrehearsed


Our sights set on monogamy’s great lie, from seeing thee,

In his repose—that if I had lied,


The heavy-hearted depths, set up, torn down, to signify what


No resolute exclusivity allows -  “Alas” ‘tis worse
 - those vows!

From Dionysian bawds in training bras

Drag Queens may sift us through their burly bars,


Oceans tempt us, rivulets will bend;


Six palms will touch our hips our thighs our songs:


Elysian cars from death, desire and streetwise ends

Bowl out between our mixed maddening request


To make ménages à trois the disbelief we shall suspend

III

The likes, the likes, O mincing heart!


Bespeaking fate and destiny.


Deities attend aghast by withered looks

That pose that other stance that thwarted wink

Passing ships bethinking night

As quests with royal countenance rub shoulders

Gaging that, then this, so many sparkling eyes.

Then tears from those who cannot play their part

As hired harpists strum, soft killing, hearts strung.

What trellis were those tissue poesies from, among

The down the out meandering in rented tux

Darkness bends upon a sequined tree

Consecrating ‘myrhh’ on hand in little vials

Life shuffles hallowed galas where we meet

Try not to leave that ugly slipper at the ball.

IV

Thongs hast slid along the sauna floor,

Once trophied bodies of the odes have fallen

Dance into new light fleeing from the glare

That braces confidence in this hypnotic lair.

The grouting, tiles, the lichen covered walls

                                    Towels toiletries HD TV - thy texts 'n calls                                    

Let down ye guard aged fellow lie with me

In holds rememb’ring fulsome arms of gold

Away, look look, away, the steam conceals

Wrinkles flesh love’s handles unrevealed

A chirrup creaks within inserted digits

Shhhh, love's fisted spoon may thee deliver


And solitude’s last warning speaks within

No more sobbing for what was never sinning’s sin

V


Feather weighted sighs and sultry grins

Becoming mourning in dire vessels that begin.

Drink up, the drops remaining can be yours,

Before the spilling starts to tarnish toes.

Look look, such loads of weatherbeaten prose,


Cocks atop veins in wind that wildy spurns 


Through flakes of dust and ash your instep heightens, turns -

Stilletos break dull tedium, and that modern talk of being purple, being rare

It may well be. Yet other strident blows 
thou takes instead -

That job where breezes come and go - Upswept, down turned

Tresses 
of discourse curl above our heads,


Beloved savant, idiotic to the extreme,


No more shielding than some sun-scorched dream

The follicles of foundations, snares, have set

Get thee to convents where on site salons beget




VI


Don’t leave. Stay. Stand still. The doorman bars you from the gate. 

Never go. My shadow will follow you - No - 

stalk is such an ugly noun: It sits in unlocked clauses, cells, waiting to be bound

Walk in, the purses, wigs, the leotards and crappy chandeliers - the Carpenter has gone - 

Boas, C cups, Madonna nightlights, buttboys crave your path and presence 

Mary, His mother, wants you to stay with me - Calmly - 

swung low in the bright red drizzle - Just like before -

 Sans that special frown you always wore -

Porphyria loves you, and that last Duchess; when your name is called in precincts - 

shudders - she doesn’t live here anymore 

but visits often and brings gifts, she loved you too.




VII


His cheek was turned when planets spun, one thought

Once in awhile his other side would smile

But stars, still shooting - as he hid that grin

Caught twixt those lips like moons, tra la - Alas

The cheek he turned was utterly half-assed

Expressions of false sorrow relied upon a legacy

Apace with maudlin revelry - cups of sweet regret

He drank the life of many with that grin

Some praised the vapid sweetness, far, and near

Some saw the wily way he handled queer

For where the shadow of that smile began

Was not the property of any man

And this . . . this smile we all loved for days before we knew

With winged devils, and their 
famed cohorts - he flew




VIII


The flowers were beheaded, the fur burned

The watch,  encrusted with the finest gems

Was pawned without a second thought - one guesses

That the chartreuse cashmere sweater was enveloped

By the same news print that held the fish and chips - 

then tossed - he took his leave through the back door


In trousers stolen from the pool boy

No thanks, no loss, no gain, no recompense

Gifts to him - expendable,  t’was cash

He rifled through the dresser drawers to find

All he found were dead ants and lady bugs

An empty can of Rolling Rock and a card from Uncle Doug

What made him think you had a penny to your name

When he smiled across that bar, high on cheap champagne

Trampled pillows in his wrecked wake recoil

Your bankrupt heart reclines on tear soaked spoils




IX


That dress you dreamt from butterflies - pretend men wed you 

In chrysalis suits - your wings askew - museum pins fell from thorax hems

the bodice old, the lace anew - Cinderella grinned -

Your smile borrowed from heaven - wearing azure - surreal blue 

Some wedding daze - unrealized, except for the hors-d'oeuvres -

Ceviche, lamb strips, arugula, lobster bisque in flutes, alphabet gazpacho -

Third vowel enveloped by two consonants in cahoots

While the density of bones would not withstand your favorite boots

Those honeycombing tablets, cocktails you cannot avoid

Knowing no one would insure you - not even Uncle Lloyd

After all he borrowed - just before his sullied liver flew him off

He asked why firm gods forsake him but they still love you -

You gazed so - placid - into puddled eyes - told him

One God loves him - flaccid - hard wrung confessions heard his cry

X

Touch me, on the broadest part of my chafed uncut stem - Pretend  - 

We are flowers, dresses, 
we depend on petals, roots, and hems

 My heart is fine when you are behind bars, yet near 
- 

Our lips queer passion’s profile, pulsating with dual throbs - 

one part romance, one part Campari as we writhe 

in wild mauve fury by that beer stained, earmarked shot

of Dali and Amanda Lear - 

What? - more bad rhymes, slanting dropped names and couplets 

like we used to do? Judge Judy left the room

but not before the threat - she’d sue 

- if I didn’t get enough of you.

I dream, peel grapes, gulp the best cheap Spinello by the jug - 

Pishaw, don’t try to stop me now, I’ll be that ten dollar pushover for any thug like you

If there was a single God instead of many 

he’d change his sex and love you back again 

Into thine eyes and drink the tears of sweetness I will chug - no, not a lug 

when ‘ere I stagger blithely back to you

XI

Indeed, that love they boast is not half bad,

Risen from adulterous breast and brow,

Both wore tiaras upon their sullied crowns

Drawing hubris from their lips and eyes,

That love they boast, the utter strength of pride,

Denying past love’s graceless fall from where

Those set poses, grafted from another couple’s bliss

Once as earnest in their love as you in yours -

That love was love - that was their due course.

Words escape as speech remains unspoken,

Broken are the hearts, the rings the tokens.

When love is good great love rushes in to dwell -

Souls rush out and fallen morals giggle

As placing love upon that single throne

Speaks for meek throats worn out by one love’s hold.

XII

Well, if love abandons all then take love’s lead

Forsake unworthy suitors with wan cheeks

Like pale roses in the winter sun

Underneath sweet atrium’s panoramic view

Exhausted violinists wander through the indoor park

Where nightingales and larks are hidden

From beloved cages spent of bars

Because the gilded frames were never stolen

From under suns less grazed by growth and pain

Renounce the face of earth you’ve come to sit on

Live still on love that never dares to writhe

Among the hothouse lilies, petals, butterflies.