“Everything we write will be used against us,” Adrienne Rich
……..
And then autumn, a Pleasuredome’s blood crop.
In school we saw a film, Reproduction.
Little snake-feather poked the slippery
future. A boy with a burned tongue became
quickly half-baked. Burn green snake-feather flame.
Grunting and budding. Squirming with scollie.
Shoulders back, skies open and infection.
We Vogue vague. Big boom box: rhyme sweat/rhyme swap.
Everything you loved, everything you wrote
is used against you. Shadows of this Plague
passed us by. No more nostalgia syndrome,
all our anal sex a joke, quote, unquote.
We’re a long way from home. We Vogue. We Vague.
It ends here: Welcome to the Pleasuredome.
memories of my ghost sista 