Response Poem

So, yeah, we had to each pick a poet/poem and then write a poem to him/her/it. I chose John Wieners because he was a crazy homosexual.

The year of his death
after John Wieners

lives outside the
reach of
this afternoon. I wonder
how the dull light, piercing
as arrows has found
me today. Full of
mistakes. I mumble
my prayers. I keep
St. Sebastian in mind,
how the shafts
disrupt the stretch
marks on his
stomach. Those angry,
red fingers, like
ripples from a pebble
dropped into his
belly button wishing well.

Most in the pews act
like they are not clearly
aroused by their secrets.

To clear my
mind, I started
remembering the breath
of the children
of the future
and what it will
remind me of, the acidic
poisons in my night
sweat, and the confident sex
appeal of lying pilgrims.