balancing kropotkin whilst quoting baudelaire
(thirty some ill-conceived lines about nothing)

in my wallet I keep an anarchist
muttering
incessantly kropotkins hopes
of freedoms ordered expectations
demanding the impossible.

i keep a priest locked
in the attic amidst
the cobwebs of antiquity
yesterdays sage humming ave maria
reading rereading repeating john 3:19.

immersed in perfume and
smelling of tears in my closet
a nancy boy I keep
freshly shaven trying on queer
tight fitting thoughts
taking in visions of
warm summer days
indoors.

i keep an artist under
the cushions of my couch a
constant pain
in the dada.

in my pocket I keep an alchemist
transmuting lead into garlic mayonnaise
ssssssshhhhhhh listen
can you hear his nerves impatient
awaiting celebrations not quite
touching glory.

i keep a philosopher by my bed
essential absurdist existential
handgun in hand dreaming of
summer algerian beaches ushering
forth the tide of mad sincerity.