Sunday, June 16, 2013


The closet's unlocked. The streets
Are teeming with my kind, everything seems
Fresh, and as a result exultantly alive.

Yet there is a residual regret
As though in shedding dogma
Eschewing convention, being me,
I've lost my stake in things.

I scoop my misgivings
Parcel them up in my ragbag
And to actualize from the insignia
Of nascent fruitions
A sliver of untasted pleasure.

My entrails pulsate with joy
As palpable ripples of fulfillment
Suffuse my being, transmuting
Hallucinogenic fears of the past
Into iridescent moments of being.

But, the closeted self lurks,
looks on, catches up to me
And reminds me, each time i
Revel in the now, of the then
I transcended.

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