(Practice Poetry Blurb 2)

We could have talked for hours and nothing would have been accomplished. It is because the foundation he built, that expected a lover to provide the passion, lacked the instructions to be self-motivated. Still he spoke the faulty language while I spoke romantic rhyme, and neither one of us knew each other better in blather. It didn’t stop the game. We went on, and I fell in love with all the dangerous denial. Forever ago I might have stopped myself before it even started. Forever ago I had something figured out. Forever ago, rationality didn’t exist. That day I still didn’t understand what it would mean for me to love a man. More and more days pass between us, and neither one of us can speak a word. In ways I feel lied to and disrespected, and yet I understand things that were misunderstood. It’s disgusting when claimed love is a lie. Touch is beautiful, but when the mind is interrupting, demanding attention, and you never speak up, how am I to respectfully cherish silence? Listen my dear, to all things sentimental. I said listen! I’m telling you how subtle it is, trying to magnify beauty beyond what it is intended. While this is occurring, in your mind you’ve kept the parked car running in the driveway. You are not here with me, and instead of making love, instead of understanding the power in storytelling, instead you could be witnessing old bodies embrace death coming to realize it’s awakening significance, instead you could be allowing the discovery of language communicate your deeper understanding as you admit there’s more to this sadness and the excuses,rather than blaming exhaustion behind why you’re not feeling yourself. Instead of making art that transforms its viewers to believe there are good people in this world, you would rather have me be the one to jump so you won’t be seen as a coward.

I would much rather come to understand how rain and grey clouds establish lighter feelings in my heart. I would rather wear your clothes as a badge of honor and to see my body in a bath saying ‘this belongs to him.’ I don’t know the rain or the clouds, or how the grass responds having two men lay upon it. We never shared activities that invited the dust or mountains. We shared conflict and hid ourselves from vacations that could possibly allow you to know me better, and I imagine you defeated when insulted. If only we learned never to insult ourselves. Permit me to be rude for a while as I claim back the gap in my chest, that holds water between either nipple. I won’t be washing out this mouth today with bleached out water that hides the evidence of my shadow. I won’t be making any mementos just to demonstrate charity. Instead I’ll be content. I’ll be fine knowing the pool of water on my chest. I’ll be fine trying to make sense of when the breeze is cool or warm and whatever memory they may provoke. I’ll be fine writing letters.

You’d better believe that nature’s going to respond to this. She’s going to teach me new songs, especially ones with solos and only a 3 person chorus. I can hardly imagine what that day could be like, but the body seems to know more than my intelligence. The freckle marks on my upper half have spoken to trees before and they’ve claimed to know all about cultures. Their speeches are magnificent, “We know lovers. We’ve seen them in every park. And our indoor cousins know all that happens in beds. We understand the night and all the discussions under the blanket. We could hear the prayers to die gracefully. We were naked too as men smoked cigarettes, witnessing your lungs pant, and your whisper of gratitude. Within our watch we saw everything you were offered by the sun. It’s too bad you were indoors on those days, and it’s only now that you’re seeing more than grey. There is more to its gloominess, but we saw you already knew this. Let us introduce you to purple and blue. Speak your mind with us, and we’ll introduce new companions. We’ll find for you clouds, and we’ll point them all out. Come on out to this wild party and throw into the air all your concerns for men that are gay and all their lovers.”

It couldn’t be that easy could it? Just to walk in the yard and say, “Hey, me and my fellow homosexuals are done with all the non-sense of culture, bars, and misunderstanding each other. We’re all done being so alone. We know our names now, and we’re going to call each other by it.” I don’t think they know any angels. I don’t think they know how things really smell outside of cologne. Lets lift up our shirts and find out. I’ll be sure not to look in your eyes. I’ll have coffee instead of spiced tea, and I’ll let you know if I can make it to dinner, but I’ll tell ya now the chances are I won’t be available because my schedule is all over the place, but never take it personally.