Really nice Corey - makes Boystown come alive again - boy how things have changed...

This is a great poem! I love the cadence of it and the fact that it goes off in unexpected directions...Diana Ross and AIDS in the same poem!? THAT is cool. I also love the little punchy bits and the strange pause centered on violent policemen. Nice. Of course the boy's town of my memories was a wee bit different, since I'm a wee bit younger than you. I kinda feel like I missed out, since the only drag queens I knew were Diamanda Galas-quoting politcal queer-punks who knew ALL of Wild Women With Steak Knives by heart. Funny how that works, one part of a community actually has fun, and another part of the community has fun listening to pseudo-psychotic opera-trained singers. And what really works about this poem is the fact that it actually speaks of a slightly different experience, but triggers memories that possess the same existential flavor. Oooh, I just said "existential" in a comment...maybe I should cut down on the Snapple. This is great work, and welcome to the Writer's Gallery. Hopefully, there'll be more.

Oh, I love this, Corey--you say so much about such a troubling time. And you say it with a lot of power and feeling. Best of all, though, it you did have a future and here you are!!

SUPERB! It brings back the fear of some of my friends here.

Cadence, as Chip said. You pull me along through your life at that time, and I have no trouble seeing what you describe. Through (seemingly) random rhyming lines, long and short lines ... I can feel the energy of those days. The way you go from balloons to the final "thump" at the end is SO well done! Excellent writing, my friend. It's wonderful to see you posting in the Writer's Gallery. More, please!

splendid poem!!

Wonderful stuff Corey. You made your old Ma cry.

FANTABULOUSLY BEAUTIFUL!

Yes, I agree! The cadence is wonderful. I like the start on an introspective note that opens up to the reality of what was happening around you. Throughout there is a wonderful mixture of the larger issues that were dominating the times, and brief snapshots of the individuals, and their defiance and fear in a world increasingly dark and confusing. The mixture of short blunt lines that describe the outer face of the times and the deeply sad words of lives changed and lost is very powerful. It takes us beyond the facts, figures, and statistics. It brings us to the humanity. Excellent and beautifully evocative writing.

Fantastic work here, hope to see you in writers more often : )

Yes yes. THis is beautiful and well written.

lol, I won't say "existential" (and I'll forgive chip for saying it, though when one writes like he does, he can say whatever he wants, lol), and I'll repeat "cadence"---starting with chip & repeated by several others. A very moving piece Corey, and yes it gallops to its conclusion with definite cadences, stops & starts ("Ever watchful of/Prowling/Policeman's/Hellish light" or "Marilyn walks/Garbo talks/Dianna Ross spoken here/Who's a nymphomaniac/Who drinks too much beer"---wonderful, Corey). (Don't you love to be quoted with academic punctuation? Ie, those slashes for line breaks? Sorry, I don't know how else to do it without shooting my comment 20 feet into the floor...) And you rhymed that last group with "here" and "beer" and, later, "queer". You use other rhyme too---stage/plague (close rhyme), gloria/victoria, afternoons/balloons, etc...even some consonant-rhyme like points & cons (using "n" before the end of the words)...I don't know if these were all conscious, and if they were intuitive, it shows how naturally you take to them. It's a rush of feeling, punctuated by events & memories & snapshots; and while I wasn't gay, I lived there around then & knew many gays and I heard & felt daily the passion, love, fear, determination & daily dialogue with death, death, death (I couldn't believe how much all of you had to live with, it was almost like a war), and it struck me as an outsider looking in, like one of the most intense communities I'd ever seen, embroiled in a deep desire to simply be, while fighting so hard to conquer the pressure-cooker that it lived in from society and from the horrors of AIDS. I developed such a passionate admiration for the endurance & love & dance-of-the-soul that I saw in the gay communities of chicago. What comes across here is perhaps how much has changed, and the amazing juxtaposition that it was (your words) so narcotic yet so real & you never felt so alive and didn't know if you had a future (well written!). I felt that a little in the artistic dives of manhattan in the late 60s/early 70s, a community thrallingly alive while nearly buried in a cloistered unreality (my turning point in that world was visiting Warhol's studio and just feeling that too many artists were going off the deep end): We had little excuse compared to the gay communities of america, a lot of us were just indulgent; but I at least had a taste of what you & others felt as outsiders simply wanting to be. (I saw death, but not from unwanted disease, but rather from self-imposed drug use. I saw too many pass from that...) It's a beautiful poem, Corey, and with chip, it's so nice to see you post writing. Thank you so much for stopping in my gallery, I don't expect a thing, esp as you're recovering from a major operation; and I'm very, very pleased if anything I write can resonate with your wonderful flights of imagination, humor & creativity. I'm only back for a comment tonight, but I'll be back soon. (I was in florida to see my father, and I don't seem to be able to catch up with my life anymore, I think I lost the gene about a year ago, and I wake up yelling "Ok! I'll GET to you! I'll GET to you!" And I'm yelling at things...) But it's a pleasure to come here once more & I hope you're doing much better Corey, and near complete recovery...A very moving poem & painting of that very intense world, and you show real mastery of the word...

I shan't bore you with the details, suffice it to say that when I was 16 I walked from my parents home for the last time. They were, to others, bastions of the community. Well - the first 4 letters in that description are spot on.... The two folks who helped me out with accomodation, actually clearing the rooms above their antique shop and furnishing it for me, were, in their own description 'the queens of East Anglia' and they became everything to me. Up to that time they were on the periphery of my group of friends, they being at least 35 (when one is 16, everyone over 21 is old), though always constant in their desire to help when needed. Truly the 'Matriachs' of our little community. For the next 3 years whilst I got my degree they supported me in every way possible and leaving them and my group to move West was the hardest thing I had ever had to do. We had all been through much, survived and become the only family that really mattered. We all kept in touch over time - then came Aids. And as your poem so eloquently states, paranoia and subsequently, hatred and fear. 3 things, I have found, that always walk hand in hand and most often as not, are 'taught' from an early age. We are certainly not born hating, and paranoia is a 'group' passtime! Friends in the East died. New friends in the West died. Part of my heart died also. One cannot lose ones chosen family without affect. Time has moved on - at least in this country. Fear is gone - for the most part. Paranoia has been replaced by understanding, and those friends that survived have now the right to marry, adopt and lead a life once denied them, owing in a great part to the folks here stating loud and clear that enough is enough, and the church being told to butt out! I miss then still though. Those that crossed over. I always will. Your beautiful poem reminded me how much. So, despite the tears, I thank you.

Wonderful writing Corey.