My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I'm thinking, one more cocktail
with this blue-eyed slab, (paid for twice over, but never to be owned), will not subdue the
bestial morning’s sadistic appetite. The secret is out; Fire Island tragedies are lurking
under star-crossed pines in paradise. My eyes are held in place midst the wreckage of my face
by shear will. I think, perhaps one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab paid for twice
over, but never to be owned, will obliterate a debauched morning hangover. What about an
aspirin or a bloody Mary? Maybe if I take a dive into the raging blue Atlantic waters of
forget me nows, my sins will be erased along with yesterday and my inhuman slurs and beat you
down puns. Even if the divine in divine mind could muster mercy for my soul, yes, even if I
acquiesce and bow to their Latin liturgies, and I finally see that all my prescriptions are
merely the fleeting tonics of a foolish mind, I will never find repose. Consequently, (I will
not deny this) a loaded Colt 45's horsepower is my medicine of choice. What other elixir will
suffice when you wake early on a brand new day and your mirror is exclaiming, "You’re old,
decrepit, and to boot you’re gay? These are but the rage-dreams of a narcissist’s self-
absorbed preoccupation. In ephemeral brevity, my spirits rise high as the sun glides its way
into mid-day. I take a second look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the
history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I
confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a
masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under star-crossed pines? My eyes hold
their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I'm a silly man. I think I look dashing as my
life and times and face decay. I think, "Oh, what's another cocktail, or a line of coke or
two, with this blue-eyed prince of a man; paid for twice over?" The fine print says ‘on loan,
never to be owned.' Nowhere does the contract state 'this stud, despite his sublime stature
cannot subdue another debauched mornings' hangover revenge.' On Fire Island, ghosts lurk
scare-crow, screw-faced under littered dreams. Theirs is an insatiable hunger for any soul so
predisposed to join their twisted spirits in a ritual of howls. Paradise Lost Paradise Found
Over The Rainbow Smashed To The Ground. My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my
face as I slowly turn to ashes. Please, just one more cocktail with you, my beloved, blue-
eyed Aphrodite! I've handsomely paid for you twice over, could you love me for any fee? No.
Not he or any living mortal can subdue this debauched morning hangover. Finally, I take yet
another look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the
fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient
splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire
Island tragedy lurking under star-crossed pines? My eyes hold their place amongst the
wreckage of my face. I think, one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab, paid for twice
over, but never to be owned, leased but never mine for evermore, will not change the fact
that no mere mortal will ever subdue my demoralized mornings spent between heaven and hell.
You see, here on Fire Island, ghosts lurk screw-faced under star-crossed pines howling
without sound.

05/15/2012

Posted on 05/15/2012
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