New Poem

Here's a new, rough poem that I'm working on.

HI DAD!!

Here's the poem:

Reeling in DC

We were the dead
and the living had come to size us up.
~Spencer Reece


Let the fever play out
the madness of a fever’s
kaleidoscope. I think that
summer is here. I’m in DC.
Today it reached 82 degrees.

I was carded when I bought
Brokeback Mountain. Only
in the Midwest, at a Wal-mart.
I realized that queer theory
was right. And this movie
is a step forward, not back.
So I pull out my card and smile.

All the suits walking down
Crystal Drive ignore me as
I push on. The hired help says
hello. I push on down the block.

The woman with her floppy breasts
walks crooked. I write poetry
virtually across her face.

In the apartment there are children
playing hide and seek with their
father. I hide myself, in my room,
a temporary home.

I write out a formula for death
and hand it to the nearest person.
They do not understand.
We, here, are already dead—bathing
in sunlight, cancer taking over
all our cells. When the living come
down as angels you will not know it.