Poem For David Wojnarowicz

“It Makes me Weep to Feel the History of You”  (For David Wojnarowicz)

How can I feel the embrace 

Of a dead thing?

I know his face

The ink

His rage,

Speeding-train phrases

From his sewn lips

Bleeding. 

I know how he embraced 

A dead thing,

A lover

Who died a quiet thing 

And snow fell softly and innocently somewhere

Beyond the windows of that casket above a theater

Where I know he withered 

And watched

With a pulsing desire,

The passing crowds 

Silently watching him become

A dead thing

IN MOTION,

A SCREAMING

BURNING 

LOVING thing

Falling 

Like snow 

Like rain 

Like buffalo

Falling, 

Charred onto the White House lawn

And scatter 

Released

A dead thing

Stinging my eyes. 

Does the wind carry bits of him through time?