Geoffx

being queer is radically true. because our love grows organically, like all love, but is also tested. to be gay requires courage, understanding, openness and honesty; true love asks the same-- our love, then, is tempered and purified, guaranteed whole. while straight love may be imitated by those seeking other human needs --acceptance, obedience, the fulfillment of roles-- and may be a farce and a social masquerade, queer love can function only as love pure and true. there is nothing bolder, clearer, more spontaneous, more human, more beautiful, more true than when a man loves a man than when a woman loves a woman. quee

he Never meant to; it started as a touch, accidental, became desperate gropes in the closet what will she think he gasps as he comes on the wall.

Boys fall in love so pure it burns their Babylon skin and blisters, seething, drawing water -- fresh spring water-- from within, up to just beneath the thinnest layers of their skin, brushed by loving fingers (square trim fingernails), surrender is just a few cells away.

Suburban Birth The coldest jersey landfill at twilight Embroidered by black tow'rs and power lines The yellowblue makes tracks of clouds so bright Between the branches of the pears and pines. A dirty childhood--of trash and time, Climbing the cars and wrappers was our game. We lost ourselves in piles for a dime, It was all mine, so free and still and tame. The scraped blue car, an anthem of our class Sat heavy near the flat grey vinyl house. And every Sunday, we would drive to Mass And come home to another kitchen mouse. When we were left to wander without haste, We found ourselves inside our neighbors' waste.

If I had been your lover there would have been fresh-cut flowers everyday grown from your mother's heirloom seeds, meals cooked to the perfection of memory to drive up dreams and bathe you in remembrance, metal and silken and abstract gifts, given on first kiss anniversaries and first fight memorials, firm shoulders to keep you and soft hands to keep you and deep breaths to keep you and words scrawled into verse lining pockets and mirrors and napkins and everything.

we didn't have to drive very far to see the light; it was right there, the whole time, effusing promises in those flickers and star-shaped orbs. so we drove toward it, until we were in the thick of it all-- giants beaming morse code on every level all around us. The city consumed us and swirled around us, hovering feet from our windows. We didn't think to roll them down and touch it-- the electricity running through the panes (pressed with our fingers, our noses) was enough for us. We shot around the exit, like a rock of David's sling, flying backwards away from the Goliath back onto the highway. We plotted how many hours until we met

As I Am peace beneath troubled bridges filled with smoke, ripened dried tobacco womb we speak of good things true observations never spoken before without error or pretense or clarity clarity it's all so clear: we are mistic mystics. fate slew us and we did drop as edie did as the Lord's golden hand had written on our primodial fetus pre-selves three corpses sprawled on spongey tangled grass eyes casually smoothing over a blank sky

peace is my river she flows through touching everything I keep nothing as time is baptised my home is washed away wood gives way to spirit water to live in.

chenrezig strings I say that LOVE flows freely from this body so what am I doing- living hypocrisy. "O wild roots!" I yell as I trim your branches.

my skin is burnt sugar mon peau est sucre brulée