As I skipped out this morning,
skipping down Castro Street,
the queens upon the asphalt
were racks of hanging meat.
The Pendulum was open.
The Mix had yet close.
I stepped into the latter
to down a bitter dose.
We danced to “Only You”
by Teddy Pendergrass.
I sniffed a fetid boy.
I felt his denim ass.
The bears admired their beers.
The chat turned flat and racy.
The bartender's a clown—
we call him John Wayne Gacy.
He makes me laugh for breakfast;
he serves me guilt for lunch.
And when it’s time for dinner,
he gives my face a punch:
I feign dismay then ask
if I may have another.
He smiles and always says,
I am not your mother.
A bear began to sing:
“The night is falling soon.
And love is never love
without a tub of ruin.
And lounging in the ruin,
what becomes of us?
Narcissus in the water
strangled Commodus.”
He sucked a little straw
then shut his fuzzy trap.
This place is just a station
on the oblivion map.
I live a block away.
Oh yes, I live alone.
I won’t be coming back.
I do not have a phone.
I can’t provide the moon.
I hope you've said your prayers.
I have a special room
down the cellar stairs.
