Artie little five foot Jesus one hundred pounds in the rain he wants me to go to bed w/him & when I say No he accuses me of being afraid of love I argue mildly but give up all at once when I can’t convince myself I’m telling you this circus life is all sad clowns & doomed high-wire acts I keep tripping over on my way to the toilet & I swear THIS on my grandmother’s precious Italian soul: this whole happiness thing is done w/smoak & meers.

Smoak

&

meers.

Artie strokes my hair kissing me on the ear his shadow on the wall so small in the dim lights his tin flat lips pressed tight together barely brush my ear & I know it’s only tenderness it’s only human I stare into his Eyes to see who he is & tuck a strand of hair behind his ear he loves me & I can’t love him back not the way he wants he’s my baby brother a kindred spirit my little urchin kid brother hiding under the porch waiting for me to bring him food he moans & retreats to the other side of the room for a book of poetry & sulks behind it there he goes again seeing Us in the blood soaked pages as some kid of tragic New Millennium Romeo & Juliet the flask of poison clearly marked on the table arm’s length away and calling Psst psst, hey buddy…