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《Tropical Depression》Mage

/Here I tackled the 'normalized' gay culture./

My legality to '20s spilled succulent clothes as wine, from men twice and thrice my age.

Kneeling, crying, and sucking the youth out of God's child, rumored to be a school mage.

A head turner, a memory freezer, a hallway glider, I set them under my spell for a biblical eternity.

A successful self-mythology, an echoing idiosyncrasy; an idiot collecting sin while looking hallow-eyed crazy.

Hallowed be the unspoken name of the child born from the four corners; Russia, Arabia, Indonesia, and España.

Hallow be the heart too big to fit thousands; of nameless men, of ringless husbands, and rings of marijuana.

I rage. As a mage, drained by thieves, an autumn tree with stolen leaves- turned into spell books of unholy verbs.

From green to red, I change, roll the eyes, their toes pulling the skies- ever-so-elusive at the mountain city's exurbs.

The old wooden creaking, heavy soles on my shoulders, static at staircases of heaven and hell-

The new sin screaming, in abandoned condominiums, in holy grounds I know well.

They kneel, and they kill- a part of me, as the pleasure abide-

But I let them, for I have conjured many faces to cast aside.

My staff raised in authority, to perform magical marvels, to leave demolition at its wake.

But the Balrog in the mines of Moira- I've let it pass, more and again, for social sanity's sake.

So I immortalize discreet fiction and songs, the work of art working on works of art.

Travelling in oral tradition the deeds of the mage, mouth to mouth, yes- which no facts could tear apart.

And their visions were manic-

For all I gave was- magic.

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