Someone has painted each perfectly regular
section of each perfectly regular
block from here to home with a
stencil—
‘Queer as Fuck
…sorry Dad’
in red against the grey
sidewalk.
Sidewalk marginalia—I’m
waddling,
bovine, into jungle rivers filled
with slow-sucking eddies.
Like river-bottom mud, grey
matter begins to churn
with swimming teeth
and warm blood.
I move from frame to frame
unexposed, image awaiting
a motto. My explicatio:
‘I can do all that sidewalks can
imprinted like them and their
author beside—urged by secluded
light
to scribble my name on the ground.’
Yet,
