A Gay Garden, May 2000

                                                   ‘Till the shadows
on his past
In a separate garden. 

No pansies, Narcissus, no dandies~

                            Recessed in the room
so that you come to them
Little daggers drooping on the hearts of men

Except that we were
They couldn’t have cared less
Not to check the out of our minds
Throwing our heads back for
The last Brunch
The sun mocking itself
Tricking the eye into
Thinking that it is

seeing a day of youth
and the shade of it all
or shadows in shadows
we don’t really remember
25 years ago before the lost days
When everyone was
killing  million-rooted blood hydra

So on this day
we lulled with
Jerry’s black purple
Siberian irises
Operatic over
the campy furniture
vibrant with cheap mimosas
aubergine & puce morning glories
staying out for a long
morning luxuriant
Lurking by the
towering fox gloves
slap each other with lilies
(cream laced with black Pagliaci tears)
Spilt over its lips
With  winds swirls
making us blink
red or violet afterburn
barely pink
before noon
Swat and sway
Trying to dance against
the lazy chorus of chive hammers
In blur organza
brushing by
Spiked gay feathers
Tripping over bowl of clover
Whisper over
villainous amaryllis
With intent
Snap!~dragons lean in
Venereal shades
Under Gary’s
Arc of skidrow lattice
Populated with pale pink clematis
(ear-ringed and dreadlocked)
As the
Ladies of the Nellie Mosers,
On the Neon Medusa
Staring down
The granite dragon
castigated with doubt
certain of never
but certainer of if infinitum

Root map of the ants
cotillion next door to
The red speck-flies
Amok on mauve silk belles
Pussy willow spidaled in
gnarled to beauty
because of the early heat
and forget-me-nots
lost on other endless afternoons
the noon showdown
vaporized our outfits
reassemble from last
night, forced bloomed
to limpness
with immediate history

we’ve looked worse

The lovers gone, the
Friends changed,
perfumes from
A vanished era still around
Fading in and out with
Unheralded souls clutching
What were once and what

Will always be the
Ghosts of the gardens at Versailles.
Those forgotten roses
May still be here.

Not remembering promises not to
Have sex
Not to cheat on our lovers
Or press leaves between
The pages of the unsigned pact that

We are finally
loving witness for each other
and that is a sanctified root
of annual and perennial
So the light changed
And there is still laughter
The same larkspur
dug out of Troy

To and about to drown
In the next rain
Dancing in this
dewdrop metropolis
so supple some night
So fetid sometimes
it wanders
by day
this dank soil
Is seeded the next
So instead turn our back
On the blinded warriors
going back in to say goodbye
Queen of the Garden

for Gary