The great dilemma,
that miserable tragedy,
          and now it’s happened
again, another fag falling
          for his only male
friend, is he ill-experienced—
          or solely unversed—
in homosocialization‽
          His expectations
dead weight crippling him, as any

          vague thing resembling
affection slowly and always
          ends up reversed, back-
handed compliments failing to
          secure illusions
of confidence, or to succor
          the sore wounds of sour
words, how having to go through this
          mess—that seems almost
syndicated—of allegèd

          best pals, those so-called
“heterosexuals” pushing
          it to, and blurring,
every edge—close—yet never-
          going-through-with-this,
makes existence itself simply
          so unfulfilling,
and paints companionship as one
          pursuit for such men
too primitive, futile for those

          few who have never
experienced it, leaving them
          questioning if they
ever even will, coming so
          close to suffering
something that, at least, seems like it
          might possibly be
remarkable, if not a pain
          more marketable
than faked smiles are believable.