Pieta Alone and alive inside myself, beside my fatherin the 6th Floor’s sprawling TV room; I’m halfwaythrough my final walk of the night, moreof a pained shuffle. Outside,everything is frost and darknesssave the death sentence imposed as if by lottery—to lay my head without question atop the stumpof an oak—it ends here—the swift slam of a cleaver:I swore sideways, upside down, even backwardsin French and the bishop, rejoicing, absolved my sins.I came back not much later, and he was gone.The new one cared only to condemn my queerness;my death was such a bore. Creation grovels out of agony,never love, and … Continue reading A Poem, Submitted for Your Approval. Or Bloodthirsty Ridicule. You decide!