As the days lengthen I grow impervious
And resilient against time.
Not like a mountain, which is pacified
By the wind’s conciliatory whisper,
But like a star that burnt out
Long before today
But which still blazons and bears
Across time to today.
An improbable but nonetheless accurate statement:
A gay bar is like a moonless forest.
Both, full of echoes and élan.
Both, where durable forms reiterate in corporation.
Both contain a fullness that binds the night
To no memory but duration.
A more probable but nonetheless accurate statement:
A gay bar is nothing like a moonless forest.
My step-father took us out once to shoot
A rifle at empty beer cans,
Which bulleted off a moldering log
Like a frightened quail.
My shoulder hurt for days
But I occasionally knocked a few cans over
And the forest collected the crackling gunshot
And held it like a reflection.
At a gay club I pick out guys that mimic
The look of my step-father.
They almost never dance with me.
And that’s how a gay bar is like a moonless forest.
Formless bodies broken only by the dawn.