Some Manhattan project, it erupted
as soon as the metamorphosis
was read on a street corner

I thought I saw him last Thursday,
as I walked away from the gates
of Hades, he wore a hat

On his angel-halo head, fair
skinned Moor, a levitating
Catholic

His mouth spoke razor truths
unto a jazz chord
rock band

Be-bop H-bomb, we released
into our adolescent fantasy;
Freedom Riding in our BMW!

G. made me believe in god,
but A. taught me how to pray

this is a long dedication to smut,
and Shakespeare

I have always felt like a bastard,
or a Jew.

You made me feel like Kerouac
in New York,
but I am myself, nowhere

The cigarette butts burnt
a death camp number
on his hand

We are all Jews,
and homosexuals

So crown me and crucify me,
and WORSHIP me!

Last night I dreamt YOU were god,
and you granted me asylum
in Cuba

Farewell.