Untitled

I turned my back on the color fields.  I turned my back

on the abstract, New York, the blue/red adjustments

and the inflamed men, the men inflated with trust

and acts of god and gorgeous manly man drag.

I turned my back on the furious magazines [I could

read], their reds and blues and frequencies I used

[I could use] to spin myself into an ecstasy, white

dervish, in custody of a story that begins troubled

with power, then the trouble is you as you spin,

a dance that ends with what kind of man I am.