This Song Always Makes Me Think About Zach

With lyrics like, “I won’t let you let me down so easily,” I can see how someone might feel this song unwittingly plays into rape-culture.

That’s part of my weird love of it, though: it makes me think of Zach, and that gay re-contextualization tends to remove all the “rape-y” vibes.

P.S. it makes me think of him because of the line, “you gotta spend some time with me”—I invited him over a bunch of times, but I guess the ONE time I snubbed him in photography class (I was ultra-swamped with work), it ruined my chances in perpetuity.

Eat Pussy

EAT PUSSY blared the bumper of the car next to me;

someone had taped out the message in block letters,

then spray-painted the bumper, then removed the tape, to reveal EAT PUSSY;

at first I was annoyed,

I bristled at the banner on the bumper, but then

I caught myself, realized myself, and

realized a fundamental truth about men.

At this point in history the mighty Western penis

has become so perfunctory as to almost be cliche;

I’ve nothing against penetration (believe me)

but it takes real skill to communicate

with just a tongue and quivering lips,

and the difference between a man doing oral

and a woman doing oral

is the pure abstraction of manhood

(tasting great, filling less).

EAT PUSSY, then,

on a sun-bleached Honda Civic bumper

is a radical act of straight male reclamation:

a mini-pride parade with every trip to the gas station,

the video game store, or yes

with every date…

Why You Don’t Feel In Love

(for Mason)

It’s sad what losing

you taught me about

you. It’s—so!—sad how

I dearly love those things

very cool, sweet, sharp;

you cannot see how you to me

are cool, sweet, thumbtack sharp.

I treasure the sacred flaws

I find when I find awe;

you will not see how your

very body burns with awe.

I’m Daoist because I’m in

love with strong sensations;

you don’t feel any

blinding weight in your

presence next to me.

I guess I can tell

why you never felt

pull within our love:

if I could ignore

every last inch of my

own skin, ocean waves

wouldn’t feel at all


Prayer To An Ex-Boyfriend

Tommislav, this
Thought, it haunts me:
At first I was
Glad (I still am)
To find certain
Solace from a
Soul’s presence I
See as but some
Kind young man, close
And innocent.

Yet I can sense
How he must feel
Weary, and also
Grateful, to be
So charged with
Looking after
Me, my safety.

Does he strain to
Say it? Or does
He have a poise
That I would yet
Take my pride from?

Tommislav! Tell me
In words that can’t
Be taken back; is
He whom I dare
To hope he could
Indeed maybe be?
Is he somehow
Some kind of a
Bridge between us?

I sit here, past
Midnight, and I’m
Hollow with dread,
With sprawling bright
Hope; I’m too scared
And forgotten to
Even ask of him,
“What is your name?”

I beg you, please,
Please come tell me;

Is he our son?

What The Word Holocaust Actually Means


That word is what


Grouped children of

Survivors call

Their past; half of

The Jewish star,

Colored in pink,

Is mine because

Of how my mind

And dick seem to

Work together

(I’m gay, so a

Pink triangle).

But even still, though,

As I am an

American, still

I do resent the

Word history has

For what Nazis

Did: holocaust

Means “to burn whole”;

It does not mean

To cowardly

Shuffle scape-goats

Into ovens.

While World War Two

Germans made some

Vengeance weapons

—even stealth planes!—

First, they did not

Bring the world to

That threshold that

Means to burn whole.

Holocaust means:

What nuclear

Explosions do.