After Henry Strange
you feign masculinity & billow
your fettered heart out your skin
only to be sunken by air
to a lethal degree of dehydration
which is to say you can’t survive
even with a brim belly,
you thirst wildly out of insatiety
for an annexed feeling,
widening your jaws into a scoop net
to welcome the inebriation of
libated emotions into your lungs
only for your breath to become as liberal as a wildfire
fizzing out your body like an open whisky
iterating the invariable chance
of survival elsewhere.
this place is a home, not
a prison. your wild conceit
is a bait, don’t be a dummy
the thirst for queerness is as corrosive as a dewdrop of acid.
nothing will keep you
more alive than staying
in a place where
breathing brooks permanence.