When the Fascists Come
Bars vs. Bullets—Elizabeth Goes to the Theater
Maybe a spoof called “The Choir of Non-Binary, Fluid, Ambiguous, and Polymorphously Adventurous”?
I’m happy staying at home alone but …
I miss walking over to a neighborhood bar and the bartender recognizes me because I am a regular and have been there lots of times before and they’re happy to see me and we chat a little and I get a drink because sometimes it’s fun to get a drink and talk and laugh…
I’m a Fool for You, Baby
We love as much, as well
as we are able, imperfect,
broken, yet doing
the best that we can,
which isn’t very good
at all.
Too Much Fun
Passed out early this morning
with a stranger's (new friend's?)
cum on my face,
after drinking too much whiskey,
talking too much,
staying out until
the wee hours of the morning.
Crashing a Gig in a Small Supper Club
By now the piano player hates the trumpeter. The stage has become a hostile environment. Soon it will be time to wake up the bass player. I just want to get off the stage. It's my turn again. We are just about to wrap up my song and people start screaming.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?