i wonder

an old slam poetry piece from 1998

i wonder at the course of my events,
getting closer and closer
to being in the caboose waving at the passersby
tooting my horn at strangers;

i’m creating angles here and elsewhere and next to
the shelf where i’ve tucked all of my
wantings to,
dusting them off every once-in-a-reminder
so that they don’t become what-ifs;

i came here from between two legs
that wrapped themselves around the torso
of a man
each not thinking about me
just sex –

and that is what makes me free;

so i tap lightly on the door in which
i am to enter,
my dressing room sits in wait
to be inhabited by
someone strong,
and willing to have her name on the back of a chair
willing to die for that to be enough,

and it is;

cuz i want to direct my life,
i want to be the lead in each scene
drifting my way into the majestics of
the icons
and the heroes
and the person i can be:

with a little help from my enemies,

cuz they fuel my fire
with what they spew,
the fred phelps and the lon maybons
the men who throw rocks and the ones
who sit above me in their leather chairs
promoting morale and a fair working atmosphere,

and i do nothing,

because i told.

and no one told back.

i left the ball in the other court and maybe
it’s time i went ahead and walked over
and picked it up
with myself to carry me,
because they would rather kill
because i like pussy and have one
so i must die or be exported
maybe this time we’ll give to africa;

i can’t sit here anymore if i can’t stand here as well
the blighted who want me to repent
and become straight have lost the battle –
the one called evolution –
where we genetically fight the subordinate to
keep up,
and let our brains grow;
it’s called reason,

cursed they are,
and foolish,
but we forgive them like we forgive a dog
who shits in the house,
or eats our slippers or the newspapers
instead of just fetching:
fetch homophobe, there’s a racist over there,
bring him to me, let me see you together,
twins of stupidity,
and fear,

but without reason, it’s hard to eliminate fear;
so run along and play,
pretend you’re right and that you’re kings
and that someday the greater part of this world
that hasn’t lost the battle will just give into your maniacal schemes,
and let the balance of all that is good and wise
teeter into the imbalance and buoyancy of your daydreams.

let them have their stupidity.

it’s all they have.

it keeps them warm at night,
and we wish everyone a warm night’s sleep;
the place where we can fantasize about sex with her or him
and the lottery
and cheap cars
and putting homosexuals on an island and setting it afire
or manufacturing an aryan race –

but we wake up,
and see that we are in this world,
and that it doesn’t make sense to hate the lottery,
so we carry on,
and buy a ticket here or there cuz
underneath the gray
there could be anywhere from a dollar to a million bucks;

so take a little chance
and join the ranks,
step into pace
and don’t half-ass it,
cuz i’m tired of you shit-sucking momma’s boys –
it’s starting to make me sick.

do a trick for me and make me laugh,
yes jester
throw rocks at a gay boy’s funeral
do that
and remind us how silly and inferior and evil you are:
we’ll have a good laugh,
after we have a good

and them someone will yell
off with his head,
and it’ll be hard to be right
and leave you intact
and laugh until it hurts,
at you;

so i go to work everyday
and push propaganda
wondering how long i can complain
about them
up till i have to complain about
in the midst of them
yes sir,
i can have that ready for you by thursday at noon,
so that i can pay my bills
and afford the computer
on which i write about you
in the midst

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