ONE TIME A STRAIGHT MAN NOTICED I WAS SICK
and thought it
reasonable to
ask if i had
AIDS
{covertly, with all the grace of
a bull in a china shop, horns
splaying my guts into porcelain
ribbons, edges flying convergent
and constipated with the innards
of what he thought it meant to
be gay}. i sweated
like a faggot in church when
the pastor talks about faggots
in church. he microscoped
me, eyes searching the scene for
clues—
white blood cells
dying; that which
ceases thriving
thriving; semen
too, probably, the
cause of my ailment,
caused by an condition
that possessed me long
before the virus crept
in wearing its moist
white shroud—
and with his
formula
[dick + ass
= death]
he solved me.