sitting in the Sistine Chapel very miserable and very sexy

I’m myself
sitting in the Sistine Chapel
very miserable and
very sexy

O Michelangelo
your legacy
is very gay

many people ask me
how I got the name Wolf
yes my mother but
you ask cause I appear to
have earned it and,
with an O-ish flare,
I have

I am a very average transgender
but also lucky in rich, easy ways
the way I feel about this is
a cinematic gaggle of fingers twiddling
in mwaha silk gloves

Michelangelo earned
a lot and was also
a black pit of gay

sometimes I lay on my bathroom floor and
wish I knew nothing but then…
I know

his women have
men’s bodies and
the fresco babies are
bellied with ash

who forgot
to put down a coaster!
for there was a roaring gay bash
in the heavens for you, Mimi,
lots of ash there
and heavenly tequila, too

doesn’t life feel
like a boring party
all the time?

or is that not
dramatic enough…

my mother sent a text today
that changed many things

would you like to see?

Don’t worry about being wanted.
You need to be doing the wanting.
Not the other way around.

you could use a little mothering

I can tell by your Chapel
that you were given too much
emotional leniency at young,
or perhaps you were left
in Leonardo Da Vinci’s
first invented car one hot summer
making your brain old Roman pudding
swamped with gas and marbles

my mother once left a show we were seeing
together because there was
a chosen family in it and I said
I wanted one but that brought her
terribly close to carving menacing eyeholes
in her red alligator handbag

how angry it makes me now
how angry I must be at her
otherwise I’ll be a much worse thing
and cry teeth bared at plebeians

O Michelangelo
your art can range a chapel
but you are empty inside

If you were hot
I’d give you a kiss
and it would make you do
some normal-sized paintings
of real things

if only mother had understood…
I wouldn’t be home at 4:00AM…
I’d write a poem for my heaven husband
Mickey I will call you…
or Jello…

from the bathroom
of the dubstep club
I love you..

and I choose your
long name like a
bumpy cliffside
and your crazy art
which I can one-up
in looniness…
when I die and slip under
my life like historically accurate
Henry’s-wives’-heads we will be
proud of each other, Mick,
escort ourselves to our valeted carriage,
and steer along the golden coast
of gay reward eternity…

Michelangelo and I
very miserable and
very sexy…


When it popped out of my bag I: Screamed.