Friday, April 8, 2011
Blue boy – sulky, sleek, not
unappealing – standing, shirtless,
sweating, in dull humid reverie –
bored as only youth can be
(at times I think that I’m still he) –
sure that everybody else has
agency: more license, money,
pull, éclat and clout – and all
the other boons that grown-ups use
to kill time and to blanket doubt.
I would like to give le garçon bleu
the secret of determining what’s
really true, which he does not suspect
and may, perhaps, be news to you.
No guru told me: only sex and death,
humiliation, shame, the cosmic
laughter which prevails and entertains
beyond each patient or impatient
breath. How you find all meaning
is, you make it up. It’s up to you,
mon garçon bleu, to bake your
cake and eat it too. Your spirit –
once penurious – will soon find
it is curious. Not a bad reward.
At least you won’t be bored.