Bi-Coastal Confessions From They
bi-coastal confessions from they
now a well-flown pilgrimage
plush in violet pseudo-cool airbus
flying over a landscape of i,
but for i, starving artists still leave ny gloom
to work in the sunshine and cuss
the sea of palm trees and pollution,
on a lonely search for creative powers,
never missing the blue hour.
few have that heart of the south
craving the sweet light but needing
the seasons, thunder and rain.
so, i turned and repented,
i turned and repented!
twilight came back like an old friend,
mariachis to paris street violins.
london where the jazz rains down
something magic in the music
storming in a new sound of honey dripping.
so, i turned and repented,
i turned and repented...
moi, i om, one in peace with space,
one snuggling squeezing face,
and in the middle a vast homeplace.
bless your heart with real meaning,
sickly aroused by the pitch of La boheme,
point in fact, both have wit and charm.
who knew every time i heard that song
it would give a shiver in the dark,
reminding they of that youth filled park,
taking the plunger straight up from creole.
first time emotions flooding innuendo,
a bicoastal virgin, riding the belt of venus
from thirteen thousand meters at solstice.
so, i turned and repented,
i turned and repented?
holy ode to xe
without a care, our world read carmen 16
deceiving, profane, lusty latin poetry.
to know a man from his verses,
look over there, it is something of a dream
lined up, the herd of they must have boanthropy.
in need of a new pronoun, they said, gender free
zie, zim, zir, zirs, zirself -O
declining like spivak -ey -em -eir what about co,
pissing philanthropist,
one must prefer thon, forget polydamna.
masculine, feminine, inclusive drama
in the noisy glare of a manhattan noon,
or showing in the wrinkled freeways of LA.
the sun sets and rises with the redeye,
searching and finding the new ecstatic by the bay.
to the breakers everyone has in them a little east and west!
pay the buttock-mail and sit in repentance,
embrace what feels right drunk, lonely, and curious.
alive in the blood of young transgressions,
a mad woman bumps on the rite of passage,
where are the zhee, here they be?
genderfluid x has always been at target,
in the singular quality way,
truly no need for bi-coastal confessions from they!
