Monday, September 15, 2014

Housing VIII

Where am I?
I don’t know.
Am I trapped in an apartment, bound and gay?
Am I wandering the woods without compass, orientation?
Am I flying away quickly, never to know man’s kind more than I know myself?
Am I tilling the field, seeds thrust into, plowed?
Am I loading large bails of hay, tossing balls?

Or Am I lying on my couch, besotted and being sodomized?
That’s where I must be, hiding in a closet, passed out under the table, 
Vomiting out the window, sick to the stomach in bed, 
Desperate for life beyond the malaise of metaphors. 

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