To watch the scene through hard, grey eyes
To see the lies too clear
To stand astride a never land
At once both straight and queer.

Of wispy dreams and steely thought
Of body often pierced
Of slender, gentle, shaking hands
Of fear beyond the fierce.

How cold to be so cool in hell
To shield an image so
To flee awhile if not your youth
In leaves of grass and woe.

And in each fall, a deeper fall
A fall whose only end
Must catch the wind on dragon wings
And puff your magic friend.

You weighed a game that others chance
A play that oft destroys
Until at last you saw and deemed
Some boys will be with boys.

So dress yourself in pretty robes
And gussie up your hair
The hand that mocks, the hand that fetes
No prince or queen more fair.

Copyright © 2000 Paul Heno