fag

- "fags," they said. members of our own family & so we sat, the fags in the back cutsie princess, straight sister, sits front and center, (conveniently) within arms reach of daddy's wallet because these girls like artificial sunlight and these girls like money, and the radio blaring transforms a newscast into an obituary: skin-cancer and credit-card-bills are a leading cause of death among... i wish i could say: ho-mo-phobes but the radio dial quickly dashed my hopes with the latest boy band's sappy lyrics of hetero love for the duration of the car ride no police officer would pull us over no one would speak of the crime being committed this vehicle of licit joyride crimes committed are lives forfeited reduced, ridiculed, and forgotten our silent bodies like cargo sin crimson and soaked knit-sweaters libidos maimed like cargo, groping against each other for balance, comfort, empathy licking wounds on way out of town (there's no escape) where the sex laws are the same they sit in the death cab snorting smoking choking courting fragrant disaster denounced by scent and sight lotions and hair cream frills smother skin they are lost in the gloss of this material life marketed to the consumer     pinpointed by commodity fetishes feminine masculine a "female" identity as defined by what's in your purse your pants, your closet, and your medicine cabinet (i don't carry a purse, but my nephew does) (stolen from his sister, no doubt)  (why would his father ever buy him one of his own?) (and that is the fucking moral of the story) - Written March 27th, 2002 © on Mar 27 2002 08:05 AM PST   angst