Gay
I’m as gay as cranberries, apples and limes
Fresh fruit like peaches in the check-out line
Pink lemonade and pecans and cheese
Fresh pineapples loaded with seeds
Roses and mildew and cows in the field
Gerbils and oxen and the summer yield
Apricots, lemons, blueberries, figs
Hubcaps and lightpoles and music and twigs
Dimly lit beer gardens where we dine
Where patrons smoke and caterpillars climb
Where icy lakes freeze with violet snow
And bicyclists sing wherever they go
The reaper with his sickle
The count eating a pickle
The castle in the hills
Telephones, books, windowsills
Octagon houses swaddled in night
Big leaping rainbows across the bight
And sheep and mist and herbs and shrooms
Bones rattling in sealed tombs
Courage and fear and voluptuousness
Going to sleep, giving a kiss
Running a race all the way to the moon
Dying in droves, shining the spoon
Opening your heart to a friend who cares
Stomping bugs that leap through the air
Cities with lots of bright lights
Visions of paradise on hot summer nights
Friends and music and beer and clothes
Finches and hewels and eagles and crows
Pink and black and purple between
Taking a hike, eating a bean
The seasons as they turn and shrink
Early-risers begging for a drink
Goats with five eyes and oceans with feelings
Hallowed thurifiers and dirty dealings
Cocaine posing as salt
Natural disasters, the San Andreas Fault
Quantum theory, the girl with the pen
All of the numbers—even ten
Life behind my eyes, fading and gone
Ocean breezes and singing along
The winding road, crooked and free
And all the branches on all the trees.
Alex Witonsky is a writer from Smithtown, New York. You can find a story of his at GravelMag.com. He likes mushrooms especially.
