I have this vision of madness:
dear gay brothers,
please get out of the trucks,
the sun is rising,
before it is too late.
Make lines, hold hands
and form a procession out to the sea;
when the sun rises
turn around and face each other
ask where the day goes
and
what have you done with the time?
Some of you will answer,
“but what about astrology,
where is the moon, now
that the sun has risen?”
“And what about my hair. Is it too long?
Should I have it cut?”
“What about my clothes,
are they the right style,
does my ass show to its best advantage?”
but
the moon will cover your body,
the sun, the sun will linger
and dwindle . . . until all becomes
endless words only meant
to cover your nakedness.
Strike out and go mad.
Frozen with fear, eyes blinding mad
detest everything that holds you apart from me:
an end to fantasy
an end to innocence
an end to everything that
is not pure and fantastic.
The poignant hour of the day has come
when evening tells its own story
when you go out of your house
to find your true love
in the banana forests
in the rain gardens of Central Park
in the steaming beaches of baths and bars
when the heat of desire has frozen
your lust, has bent your heart
into a thousand masturbatory images
that cannot be fulfilled
and only some urgent insanity
some call to reach and touch and reach back
will find me waiting in the lobby of your heart
all the time hoping that
you will come, full of rage
and crazy kindness.