when you died four days went by until the living souls found you grimace on your face and in the spirit comfort you are gone sometimes awake at dawn i wonder where you are up in the skyline of the last picture i took on our first train trip together poetic in your cries for help you were you’d cuss us out scream in ignorant hatred then you’d say “you want a porkchop” when soul one called it took 3 minutes i thanked her she thanked me we hung up wrote your final moments as an incident report no more angry calls or wasted lies no more interrogations with misty eyes about why the demons at your door don’t show themselves for me i do remember our trip to Mickey Ds you wanted cheeseburgers and OJ we got our order and took our seats while your eyes fled off in wonder i did not know it then although sometimes i knew that the more i pushed you to live the deeper you fell into the belief that your troubles would be over after you visited the other side of that skyline in November
im not ready to write that poem about pride i want to hold on to the last withering rainbow tufts of our youth even as society judged you even as i relied on you as your own life hung over the cliff you gave me love im not ever going to write about the goddamned rainbow and flags and house music and all of what you were pigeon holed into i ache for you when i see a live pulse in the inside of my scared split wrist i feel burning shame as if i could only gut myself out the several times you bought my junk when you needed life extending medicine no i cant write about the marches and those vigils and political farces when i miss you so much you were my mother my father my sister my brother my protector my guide you were my life choice accountant my guardian my saint remember the time i was raped and you found them out and morphed into holy rage for a moment hell closed up while your fists rained down fury upon them we both wept remember the morning when i knocked on your door and your mother answered with a face wet with Mary’s eye dew from behind your favorite Japanese screen you called to me wondering if i brought you Thai iced tea i navigated my shock to see your skin and bones when two weeks ago you wine and dined with joy at the Tenderloin you said come kiss the queen and as i neared the top of your hand lowering my lips to your cool forehead i melted next to your neck and received the final tear from your left eye and i knew the rainbow wouldn’t ever light my path again
*for Asa, i miss you so much friend say hello to Freddie for me
I don’t smoke anymore. I don’t pay attention anymore. I don’t do much anymore. Anymore matters not to anyone. It’s been about two weeks. There is a foggy dream pricking at my waking reality. There is a politeness as to not give away who I am, and who we are, and what we are not made of. Orion’s Belt has lost another Queen Sister. Look up, see? The castle shines less than it did about fourteen days ago.
Sitting next to me, he, young and professional talked to you about developing a plan for hope. Sitting next to me, your cracked yellowed fingers, stiff like frankincense resin, shuffled through your last official systematic memoir, but he and I didn’t know. Did you know? Or did you know you couldn’t go on? Your blue framed reading glasses made of plastic were spotty and needed a scrub. Your skin ashy and hair matted into a bun, those fingers searching for that someone who told you that you were fine so that we could tell you too
We met on St. Valentine’s, you tried with all of your might on St. Habet-Deus and laid yourself to rest on St. Alvaro’s soiree. Yet, when the old timer hard core practicing apostles hailed St. Polycarp, I stood looking at the west atop the building’s nest with my back to your door sealed by the authorities of science and service.