They told me there is no dawn without the night.
Where did this weight — solid rock crushing my chest into spine — come from? “You know very well. That fight? Fourth grade? Wyoming?” Yeah. So maybe it's time to build a house with that old stone and move.
Hey, bro! I did her! With sunglasses on! — Memorial Acclamation Go do it, then, whatever it is that you do — sex someone, buy that ring — film it, even, make a record of your elementary courage and then social your accomplishment to your kind. After all, you have the keys — (Secret gesture. Secret gesture. Secret gesture!) — and I should want to be just like you. But, no. If you’re going to do it, hijo, choose a field where you will get caught and shot and then I’ll know you’re real. Let your body stand erect as rifles are raised by priests and soldiers; stand before their righteous hate, alone, knowing you die for your desire. Then I’ll follow. In your childlike voice: “It was just a little fun!” “Why do you have to be so serious?” Mi pequeñito, you have a thousand ways to explain your survival — as his blood sings from Spain, intones a truth known only to me: Divinity is a dead body, sinking and stinking, unliked and unfriended, shot by justice, abhorred by Church, buried nowhere but my heart. Cristo amó. Cristo murió. Cristo murió.
“Dolores Park, SF”
I should write something, here from this perch above the city. But what? Walking up 14th, I saw a guy shooting up between his toes. He'll be dead soon. And then the perfect couple modeling their perfect lululemon exercising their perfect dogs — already dead.
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