Love and Other Poems. Alex Dimitrov

I saw

      the only place I could live

      was here. Inside.

      So whoever wanted me

      had to come through the body.

      Which has rarely been beautiful

      to me. Too soft and unconvincing.

      Too small. I hope the future

      is free of god and memory.

      I hope the future is

      all body, all blood.

      And since to be queer

      is a way to forgive life,

      I’ll take as long as I want

      finishing my cigarette on Seventh,

      walking up Christopher

      and thinking of everyone

      who’s yet to get here—

      somewhere in a bedroom maybe,

      young and bored across

      the country, not impressed

      by our parades or idols,

      all the sponsorship we bought.

      I’m late for a drink but wander,

      handsome and aimless,

      looking for a sign

      before nodding to the dead

      who always need a light.

      TIME

      Again I am unprepared

      standing under an awning

      in the middle of summer

      autumn, winter, spring—

      watching the downpour

      in what could be

      the middle of life;

      wondering how long I’ll wait

      before becoming the rain.