I was there with the young men who danced to OZ.
I filled the room with
my expectations,
creamed the walls with my visions
while applauding their rebelliousness.
They would watch me
as I walked
through the door
with my lovely whore
by my side.
They would follow me home.
It did not bother me
that they knew where I lived
or that they knew how I made my living.
It did not seem to bother them.
And I believe they
loved me.
I had always felt
that they would be there
when the time for the rebellion
arrived.
And so I showed them
the same respect I would have shown
any other soldier.
Now lying there with their disease
on white bed sheets under
a red cross,
they are being killed
by a society
that could never have understood their dreams.
Somehow
the secret of their crucifixion
was kept from us,
and a great army
was never given the chance to have their war.
