Monday, November 08, 2004

1507

THE BOYFRIEND METAPHOR

A little death wears a mask.

When I rise from my bed
Owls peer with long endings
Trained on the windows;
Taped in the notebook
A guide to the eleven kinds.

The heavy coat is armor
Only for invisible waves,
And when he stands in it
He feels more vaccine than man,
More plexi than heirloom.

Still, he goes maskless
Wherever. He goes there.