Fag Hammadi

by Max Brumberg-Kraus

Isaiah sang of vineyards, wild and overgrown.
Pausing for effect, he took a fist of grapes, and pressed
real hard. “When you further knowledge, you further sorrow”
muttered a harrowed Ecclesiast,
eyeing the singer from across the bar, the queen he’d chased
for years hoping to hold those red-­stained hands.
I lay my tongue in wrinkled thighs­­ I, Isaiah, taste
that bitter fruit, while my chickenhawk plants
kisses­­gullet quivering­­ on my barely­-a­-man’s
chest, wrist... fingers. Thus they signed a pact, abandoned
us and burnt their books. We’ve tried to breach that expanse
of forgotten wisdom, but we fail­­children
midwifed with Jarman’s Blue in 1994.
A generation died when we were born.

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