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mike igoe
Mike Igoe
Ireland, Dublin

Words: 504
Access: Public
Comments: 0

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Proper Gender

Joe brought me to his bed-sit on Waterloo Road and showed me I wasn't the only one, not really...
In the Ivy Gardens we strolled, scared to hold hands in public though I would have loved it...

Together alone through summer side-streets of parks, saunas, a dream a possibility of happy ending...
With a boyfriend in Paris for the weekend a mad gleam of infidelity and later a leather suitcase for Australia...

On the sofa of the Dragon or George or friendly bars anywhere to cuddle an hour in peace...
No funny looks or anything only chatting and drinking we went home that evening and just fell asleep...

A backyard porch Sunday morning a small dog a thousand daisies while you made me coffee I felt happy...
You didn't walk me to the station I never heard from you again that didn't matter...

The sweat-box bars and clubs of six pack beard-rash rum on tongue...
The young men in chat rooms texting hugs and laughing out loud...
The sweet and sickly head rush hard love or plastic petals...
The naked trembling darkness genitals in blind steam rooms...

The air full of perfume and overwrought poetry...
The jugs and lesbian pottery of college societies...
The petitions and pride parades I had no patience for...
The student militia with their clatter and phoney war...

You know the Blood Transfusion Service Board do great work despite their nazi ideology?

Nobody's perfect...

Except maybe their own selves in their naked whole and honesty...
Their love that dared speak it's name in time before the gravity of daylight...
Clinging for dear life to dying flames of private pep-talk morality...
Their hearts gouged by gin-soaked cabaret in drag and chorus in requiem...
Their three a.m. tearful faces in ambulances on George's Street...
Their laughter telling strangers to fuck off mind your own business...
Their voices whispered on porches praying their father's forgiveness...
Their bitterness that wolfed in the abyss beyond the borders of their souls...
That howled behind their boyhood closet doors devouring skeletons...
That gnawed the bare bones on bedroom floors...
That leapt on the bed and clawed their faces...
Lacerations of eyeliner!
Nightmares of chemical castration!

Fingers shaking; I trace these prayers on the back of his neck as we lie awake together...

For the smiles that shudder earthquake in the soul...
For the strands of sandy hair that hide their eyes electrified fearless...
For the trembling lips wet and rain and the hands buried in back pockets seeking change; and love...
For the dewy skin at morning under sunrays streaming pale and playful through the slats of unfamiliar bedrooms...
For the shoulders sleeping; the world and womb rising gently to mantras of breath embodied
To recede in embrace; secret rhythm of ecstasy; of love...

For the clammy hands undressing fumbling with belt buckles giggling and kissing - wildfire and joy in our eyes undimmed for an eternity in empty alone - indestructible love and perfect melody of the soul!

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By mike igoe

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