from HOMOSEXUAL PANIC: David Self, 1985
D—
I imagine the night another way: Knife through the laminate
cover of a bible in a bleached kitchen sink. Bruises where the
fingers squeeze, then crush a bagged peach. Knife through a
framed painting of a sleeping saint. Knife wrapped in burlap,
tossed down the stone neck of a backyard well. Perhaps to
slit open the starless gut of February, perhaps stowed.
Perhaps your name wandering the fields, a lost firefly.
David: Pendleton. David: Fort Thomas. David: Dayton.
Instead, the night: Neatly disemboweled as winter against the
windows. Meeting at Subway Bar, then back to his place.
The night: Fingers, a necklace of bruising. Larynx a
squeezed peach. A paring knife, then a cigarette butt lodged
in your starless gut. A future & queer wandering the fields.
