I Can’t Live Up to Normal

                         i.

Tired tyrant exhausting knots of
irony in the cheapest rooms
at the finest hotels, all
the things I’ve put in
my mouth and you wonder
why what I put out
seems to read like cheap
pornography unfit to even digest
in a flit of squints,
winking self-mythologizing anti-lit, blinking
incessantly,

                         ii.

fists akimbo bruising my hips,
tonguing my cheek, no apology,
finally, my fellow creeps, this
week I’m ready to spit
something tarted up like a
hit, digitally dissimulated smut resembling
honesty in a bout of
confessional, mutable ethics transfixed, coming
unglued, busting one so unhinged,
the closet door’s on the

                         iii.

floor now, enlightening wit unbolted
without regret, what I’ve got
to loose I’m losing every
inhibition to christen this my
first attempt at being my
Self in print, pixellating the
ugly bits, words and all
the thoughts buried feelings indulge
worse than a gluttonous desire
to be fed perverts by

                         iv.

performing an exorcism misdirecting my
demons into hogs my bed
always held before the world
got sick of being my
mattress, no longer in it
just for the kicks, no
sir, look on my messes
and marvel, wonder at my
eleventh hour conversion in world-ending
2026 to a guy who,

                         v.

for once, gives a shit,
at least sort of, so
to the candour, let’s forget
the hell we’re all going
through exists just to let
us glimpse what nobody else
tells us is the mirror
image of queerest endtime politics
upended, my gay agenda a
script embarassingly imperious, queen shit.