Three Micros by Francisco Márquez

NYC Gays

there are so many of us
in packs and diamonds
hounding the plazas
and piers and sniffing
we use and dance
and meet and use
and you and you and
me and me and me
all the milk on streets
all milk white froth
dancing on darkened
wood the milk will spill
just a little crying it’s
always a party isn’t it


Someday this skin
will snap
and this red mess
will stop folding
itself over
like a pancake.
There must be
some monster
in here, some devil
this hand to the fat
and depositing it
in my vault
of a body.
The sculpture that moves
is no longer art,
it’s a running karaoke
song chased by
a mob of brassy tubas.

Ode to the Hollywood Starlet

Starlet, I saw you fall,
            I saw your body
ground to a pulp
            on the street.
I stare at your picture:
            girl grinding her teeth
with a shaved head,
            black umbrella right
through the glass shutter.
            It’s your tragedy,
I remember mine:
            the face of my rapist,
the piling of cars
            after the accident.
Starlet, I’m not like you,
            I saw you get up
like Lana in springtime,
            your body lifting
out of the wreckage.
            I keep trying
to do the same. I keep
            wanting to be
the glimmering world,
            a Hollywood spectacle
with his own show, his
            very own silicone body.

New Rule

*reference: dark like dirt but not like dirt