a coven of twinks screams yaaas in the corner and we defer self-loathed up always too judgemental to be amongst kin scythe-lips when we do it sugar daddy gucci it’s so different we swear we wax complex not spell not thirsty choir buried deep in this lorien of a december night even though this is the club and we are all its keepers even though new year / new me a road winds deeper and deeper into the crowd will we ever be at home here? the ball drops and keeps dropping and do you remember any age before this? we have always been at home here for so long these sights were as inaccessible and precious as the dappled cities on the screen, the faces in a dream impossible fealties but people like me are always looking for a concave mirror to take delight in a middle earth to claim swirling future in a basin of touch so what if it becomes all cum-like-retweet edvard munch scream gotham tears like cutting shears into a faught fabric of desire it only takes one face to reconcile me with doom when we do it the beat builds it’s so different but we still live on our own the twinks shift, so do the bears the silver-blue inevitability of her ancient gown looms the hidden eyes of every burning tower unites gazes there whiteness sets down her drink sets fluid words to some new jinx watch now as the elf-queen walks barefoot in her silvan circles dancing circles around the young so ready to be loved watch as the glittering night burns down all heaven-flu around us

I spend a lot of time thinking about gay bars. They’re both a fantasy space — a theater of desire and self-invention — and a kind of neon mirror, reflecting so many of the community’s issues. I’m not really interested in broadly indicting gay culture, though, as much as I’m interested in understanding the function of whiteness there. I also really loved The Lord of the Rings as a tween, and the character Lady Galadriel always interested me — she’s beautiful and ancient, graceful and haunted. Even though Tolkien’s work, so nostalgic for a cherished agrarian past, makes me feel queasy now, Galadriel felt like a useful symbol of whiteness and beauty and mystery, particularly when a lot of people want a piece of that beauty for themselves.

Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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