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Literature Text
I want to know Time
as a man who tiptoes
between my eyes while I'm asleep,
wearing socks and walking softly,
trying not to disturb me;
a telephone call
from an ex-lover
where hanging up
is always an option,
despite the repercussions.
I want to know Time
as an alarm clock
that rings only when I want it to,
and willingly shuts off
at the touch of a button.
Or else I'd know it
as a garage sale, where I could
pick through items that interest me
and leave the rest to other strangers.
Instead, I know Time
as a fresh man in a suit,
who stands in front of me
with a nametag over his heart.
He always wants to shake my hand
while I'm trying to talk to other people.
He pulls me aside and tells me,
in his slick voice, "Hey, man -
I've got a business proposition
that I really think you'd be interested in."
as a man who tiptoes
between my eyes while I'm asleep,
wearing socks and walking softly,
trying not to disturb me;
a telephone call
from an ex-lover
where hanging up
is always an option,
despite the repercussions.
I want to know Time
as an alarm clock
that rings only when I want it to,
and willingly shuts off
at the touch of a button.
Or else I'd know it
as a garage sale, where I could
pick through items that interest me
and leave the rest to other strangers.
Instead, I know Time
as a fresh man in a suit,
who stands in front of me
with a nametag over his heart.
He always wants to shake my hand
while I'm trying to talk to other people.
He pulls me aside and tells me,
in his slick voice, "Hey, man -
I've got a business proposition
that I really think you'd be interested in."
Literature
On The Bus
Sitting Here On This Eaten Up Chair
I Just Was Looking
Or Call It A Stare
Judging Really
As People Got On The Bus
Judging Really
As People Were On The Bus
Guy Just In Front, Loner Without A Care
Type That Got Bullied
Sitting Next To An Empty Chair
The Gangsta At The Front
Checking His Reflection
Inside He Was Kind
Filed In The Wrong Section
Girl To The Left
Ear-rings Were Too Big
Done Up Like A Tart
And Puffing On Her Cig
Indian Suit
Dressed Like A Millionaire
Confident Look
Two Million Outfits To Wear
Guy Behind
The Only One I Couldn't See
I Had A Funny Feeling
That He Was Judging Me
Literature
Cuts
Dyke.
Fag.
Queer.
Words I've come to know as name.
They jeer and they push and they taunt.
I give them no tears, no blood, no hurt.
I remain as sturdy as stone.
Underneath I am crumbling.
Do they know each word is a cut?
A mentally inflicted wound?
With every sharp letter,
I am left with another hurt to heal.
What does it matter?
Why should I care?
Their ignorance should not bother me.
But it does and it will, forever.
I am still a person.
Still worth the attention and voice of any other.
But they don't care.
I'm worthless, useless, beneath them.
I'm gay.
Literature
Can't you hear it?
Can't you hear it?
You were dead before the day had even begun,
but you never could have known it.
C r a c k
Broken
in seven places, they told me afterwards.
---
There was a stale taste in the air
as we set out,
though at the time I wouldn't have taken any notice of it.
Those fresh leather seats seemed so…
inviting.
We both knew we were well above the limits:
all of them.
Too fast, too high and too intoxicated.
And somewhere along the way,
time stopped.
For a fleeting moment there was sile
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i dig it. all eight feet.