Negatives: Fruit fruit vegetable vegetable meat, meathead.
A-Poem right? Here-
rehearse! Growing terse. His pain.
Repunzel’s the same.
I suffer not-
not knowing what.
Shirts and ties
Back holding whys.
Hair scare. Unfair beware unaware underwear’s fair’s-fair through throughfare’s fare, fires flare as eyes glare. Unreadable.
Those eyes, scarring-
Scared. Ley worrying cheats my mind from the moment. Fears of laying and saying: the wrong effing thing. Double Edged.
Knees and rings and why am I what tomorrow brings.
of wanting o forcefully making, trying to make something work and probably never seeing the end before it’s too late.
Ice skates and Tom waits.
Harsh words and soft lips. An opening up of nothingness. “See you round” – I roll my eyes at myself and walk. Walk- Throwing white rose petals, in the air, over the sense-anon that spouts out, from my mouth.
Daft Drafts. Draughty types and typos. Cosmonauts.
His name is is was Tim.
His fame was was is grim.
Tidying, his rig he’s ever so slim.
Mine eyes like a cig.
Not beady, not those of a pig. But coals that smoulder. Bawling Brawlers bustling shoulders. The gym, he’s a boxer. Like gold, bold quick terriers or brown foxers.
It’s all a fade, hey?
What a joy, what a day.
This poem is about… you being gay.
A free spirited afternoon
Of honest fearing, gimmick, practice at saying the wrong thing. Untidy winding pro, amateur immature prose. Practical miss. A sack of potatoes, airy that I am. Your Pringle. Your bag of chips. Fragments and wonder. Swimming out.