queer theory

Why should the fly live?

 

I could end its

time at play

with my

finger

tips

 

between the rains,

now.

At the lake.

 

*

 

That’s

nothing but

what you think it

is, the queerness

of         being some

other man

thing, the object of     my

 

looking

in

 

the mirror       When eyes

meet like that – at a

 

glance – it’s

like you know me        see some

thing I didn’t want you to                   It’s

 

hurt,                crowned                      de-

thorned;                      christ

dragged post-

mortem           to the tomb

or

 

before his

ministry.

 

(You could

end it here.)

 

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