Friday, January 21, 2011

Keith Haring, I wish I had a dick for you (1/19/11)

I have a feeling
I’m choosing the wrong men.
Whichever folded slip of paper
that grants me the privilege
of selection
whether through fate,
or consequence,
(I'm not picky)
when I withdraw my hand
aims my attention
toward whoever’s pants
to insert it into next.

And that pair of beaded earrings
I bought in Chinatown,
for six bucks,
that I flung on your nightstand
when their swing became
and those almost, but not quite,
brand new leggings
with the pre-made rips
crumpled somewhere
among your used boxers,
that I abandoned
in a hurry to creep out
while you were asleep,
I’ll just have to do without,
since I've been getting by
with no dignity.

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