A walking wet dreamHe breathes the snakebite air of a Judas cityA walking wet dream by autumn-spirit
and wraps his body around Jupiter's pole,
bending his head back as sparkling fear
rains down from a glass-cut ceiling and
the titanium cowboys cheer and sip
innocence and rum at the June bar.
He's a walking wet dream;
All the drag queens
run their lacquered nails
through his sandy brown hair,
calling him their
little storybook king.
With swimming pool suicide-colored eyes,
he charms his way into
the bastard hearts of
liberty fools and gorgeous twinks.
A Babylon romantic;
the boy lights a cigarette and
tarnishes the streets with ash and satin,
bruises and rose bits.
He's the last surviving artist
with a new age grin,
looking for love in museums,
kissing demons behind Dali.
shoulders streaked with angel sweat,
and his glossy chest
thumps a retro beat
as he grinds against
a corset-threaded wall,
letting the hybrid moon
radiate through a penthouse window.
Acidic tears can't stay
encrypted in his memo