I keep my little principality tidy. Like Genghis Kahn’s nuns, I am a part of a war nation, having no real land or location, taking pain out in ever widening circles. Shouldn’t I travel as the hordes did, living off the conquered, carrying only my broom, a war nation against my own. It doesn’t take much really. You only have to be hungry and willing to do what it takes to get fed.
There is no such thing as weather. On the off-chance that it rains, I will remember the indelible mark upon a winter pond where we would skate to music in our heads. The lamp of God was healing to a water deeper than some misplaced months.
Danielle took my hand in hers,
“I can feel them,” she whispered,
then dressed in a silence
I did not know how to break
My trick wants to go to Plato's.
We go to the old Ansonia Baths
where a thousand gay men fucked
a thousand times a night for years.
Now it is Plato's Retreat; no single men are allowed without a date.
“Jewboy, hey you there”
I pause and quietly say, “excuse me?”
“You don’t fool me jewboy” says Mel Gibson
Then slightly softer and glancing in the mirror as if impatient, “you want a ride?”
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