Mumblings, Musings, and Meditations
1 July 2017
I gave up in-lovement for Love,
I gave up lovers for the
Beloved;
to wed me now would be without
meaning. How could you? whoever
you are, we are already married—
now the real honeymoon begins!
28 May 2017
It must be true that long hair begets a
special communion with God, for I can
hear voices that my ears aren’t privy
to. Samson heard the call and he
tore down the temple;
I keep being driven deeper and deeper into
these woods, where the mumblings of
sycamore and elm tell me there is no
difference between the earth and the
sky, and,
stretching out their great feathered
arms, reminding me that the sun is
just another star, lost in this daytime
illusion, yet ever searching the
heavens for its place among the
Angels.

Orange Kitty Bleeding
Orange Kitty Bleeding
music by Griffin Candey; commissioned by Gavin Dillard Poetry Library & Archive
I killed the old orange cat this evening.
After chasing him for three months, I
crawled up on the roof after him;
right between the eyes from not more than
five feet away where he had Bagheera
treed up the great live oak.
Orange Kitty fell and I blasted him four
more times as he jerked on the ground
below us.
Bagheera came down from his upper branch;
and after, I brought out Marlene, Big Tao and
Quan Yin to show them that the rein of
terror had ended.
But as he lay there with his fur blowing
gently in the oncoming storm, I had the
strongest urge to take his bloody form into
my arms, smooth his once-beautiful pelt and
tell him that it will all be all right.
I miss all my old lovers, wherever they
lay bleeding beneath the grass, I would
take them all once again in my arms and
tell them that it is not that bad, that it
will all be all right;
death after all seems so unreachable to
the living, so temporary as though it
were but a mistake, a dream that will
fade back into the reality of the
sunny morn.
But I didn’t touch the orange cat, he
was covered with blood and had been
sick, wild and unreachable as it was.
Instead, I thought of Vince Romano,
James Parcells, Steven Buker, Frank
Drummond, Jimmy Barron, Victor Lopez,
Bobby Consolmagno, David Burns, Gary
Jeske, and however many more whose
names I have quite forgotten or honestly
never knew;
warm warm hearts that had once
beat against my own, now cold lying
somewhere in the shadow of what had
been life, their fur now matted and
soiled.
The cats avenged, we came back into
the house just as the storm was blowing
in from the west.
I thought of Orange Kitty, of covering him
with newspapers or old clothes lest he
get cold and drenched where I had
left him among the periwinkle.
Instead I removed the bullets from the
remaining cartridge and set the twenty-two
across a pile of fresh-folded linens, to be
returned to the neighbor in the morning.
The rain began spattering like
gunshot across the fiberglass back porch roof;
my dinner was still warm.

NOTES FROM A MARRIAGE
Notes From a Marriage
[A possible staging: On the proscenium is a bed. As the audience comes in, two men are spooning on the bed under a sheet. The younger is naked, he never speaks, and is a moving, moaning, prop/device for the other. When the house lights go down, the orator rises from the bed—he is wearing pajama bottoms; he addresses the audience, but uses the bed and his partner as appropriate, stroking, playing with the sheet, kissing, and perhaps climbing upon.]
music by Clint Borzoni; commissioned by Gavin Dillard Poetry Library & Archive
copyright © 2015 by gavin geoffrey dillard
He fell asleep in
the morning
and the birds sang
all day
A good slow fuck
and a short dark nap
when we awaken the
neighbors’ calla lilies are
peeking in our
open window
He’s half Italian and
half Syrian
dark hairs and
sesame oil
all over my clean
white sheets
I crawl into
our relationship
the way an
infant crawls into
an open room
naked and
ready to learn
Someone put the
sun in his eyes and the
smile in his face
when I kid him
about it
he insists it was me
First time he
called me
honey I
wanted to pour
right in his
glass and
slide on
down
his throat
The air around
him hums with
his needs
and me
suffocating with
willingness
Naked at last
we can turn
our thoughts to
better things
Impatient for
love’s conquest
we both succumbed
before the first
bomb fell
He holds out his
hand and my heart
trembles
what kind of wizard is this?
These eyes
could tame giants
I told him
that I liked
being alone
and he
moved in for the
kill
He kissed me when I
wasn’t looking
my eyes have been opened
Now we kiss at
every glance
compulsive behavior
at its best
When we kiss
again
it’s for the
first time
Quiet in
his arms
there’s left
no room
for thought
Dents in
the back of
my mind where
parts of his
body fit
like thoughts
No one would have
pegged us as the
perfect couple
his smile is so much
bigger than mine
Nothing in him
on him
around him to
make me bleed
just an
open heart that
fits me like a
womb
No clouds now just a
darkened sky as
evening sets its
turn
I reach for him
gently an
open mouth and
pull out what
is mine
His eyes are
windows that
never shut
inviting
storm and
summer breeze
Pillows remind me
of him
fat and
full of goose
My mind doesn’t
wander anymore
it is content to just
sit and
look at his face as
he reads
He peed on my
favorite rose bush
and I thought it would
never stop
blooming
He’s so quiet when he
sleeps in
my arms
I could swear I
heard my heart
sigh
He has shown me
hunger
real hunger
He’s not so
unusual
for an angel
Colorful
in his Hawaiian
shirt
I can see him with
my eyes closed
His moves are
unique
they will take a
lifetime to
study
when we dance I am
filled with understanding
It’s not so hard to
make him smile
time-consuming perhaps
but what else
have I to do?
A word of appreciation
for good design
had there been
one more nipple my
heart would have
stopped
Giggling with
malice he attacks me
with a small
red hanky
I have never been
so easily felled
It’s late
he should be in
bed
and I should be
dreaming
or licking his face
Quiet now almost
asleep he
breathes as if
I weren’t even here
I move closer and
pretend to be his dream
He sleeps while
I write
as if my thoughts
were lullabies
as if his dreams
were poems
Quiet now
sleeping like a
conch shell on
a cotton
beach
I place my
ear to his
opening (the
sea inside) to
hear this
tide that
flows for me
He doesn’t talk in
his sleep but I can
tell what he’s
thinking
in the morning I asked if
he had dreamed of me
Sometime near the
morning he kissed me as though
he thought I were
still asleep
I prayed that I would
never wake up
Then he got a
cold and slept in his
own room and
I thought that the
wall between us would
crumble
No better
forecast than
another month of
rain
in his hand he
builds a fire
When the rain
started his body
became warmer
winter turns to
spring in my arms
At the foot of
the bed his
boxer shorts
like the guttered
wrapper of a fine
Italian creme
White flannel sheets
feathered with loose
black hairs
the Italian lover
is unsurpassed
He overtakes me like
sleep
my dreams are real
Some nights he
lies in bed and
waits for me
other nights his
dreams seduce him
first and only his
body beckons
at those times he
seems to need
me the most
I crawl in bed late and
am confronted by
his butt
Good morning I
whisper
and it just smiles
I didn’t believe that
he was a real cowboy
but when I climbed
out of bed I
tripped over his
boots
He says they call him Sidewinder
at the ranch
in bed he’s as
soft as a
newborn calf
I don’t consider it unreasonable for a
man to get into bed wearing his
boots when he’s
busy playing cowboy
He wears his
boots two sizes
too big
I’ve never
asked him why
At night he’s not
so tough
he breathes like an
infant
and sometimes
wets the bed
I can tell when an
angel has visited
in the morning
there are little
pieces of
cloud
stuck to my belly
I suppose it
all comes out in
the wash
these crusts of bread
and buttery smiles
Slow dancing in a
bedroom sortof
way
neither wants
to lead
we both refuse to
follow
It doesn’t take much to
wake him up
just a slap a kiss
and about ten minutes
He sleeps so
soundly he doesn’t
stir when I
curl into his arms
I sink my teeth into
his chest
In the morning he’s a
nasty beast
caged in my arms
He can’t move when
I stroke his
eyebrows
he’s an easy
kill
No one told me love
could be this
soft and quiet
when he wakes up I’ll
have my hand over
his mouth
He’s not ready for love
I’ll wait
His lips
soft
and clean
longing
for my bite
With a simple
smile
he can terrorize me
I put on a tape of
Beethoven’s 9th (and
longest) symphony
he gets into bed
smiling
He’s thin for a
wrestler
it sometimes
takes all my strength
to be pinned
Thin arms
like the handle of a
billy club
fists
always ready
for love
If he catches me
letting him
win
the game’s
over for
both of us
Please let me finish
writing I
interrupted
don’t let me disturb you he
said softly
brushing a
bare butt against the
back of my arm
He sits across the room and
eyes me suspiciously
I unwrap my towel and
show him what I’ve been
hiding
His lips tremble
when his pants
are down
I pretend to not notice
Now he’s pretending he’s a
Siamese cat he
looks at me cross-eyed and
scratches me across
the face (I leap
onto his chest and sink my
teeth into the fur
a Siamese is no
match for the
great domestic shorthair
It’s no secret that he
loves me
I beat it out of
him every night
His body satisfies
me
five minutes later I’m
anxious again
how many times must
he tell me that he
loves me?
He incites me to
violence
when I respond his
body throbs with
excitation
war is sweet
I cringe in bed
plotting my escape
helping him
bind my feet
He says I’m only
interested in his butt
I wanted to
deny it but my
first thought is to
turn him over
my knee
He seems to
do everything he can
to get spanked
I suppose if I had a
butt like his I’d
be the same way
His mother used to
scold him for
throwing tantrums
but I just smile and
turn the other cheek
This painting I did (of
Bacchus) actually
reminds me of him
the grapes would taste like
his fingers when
I find them in tomorrow’s
dessert
He tried to
tell me he was
sorry
but I
spanked him anyway
Sensitive
perhaps
or just ornery
Sometimes I think he
should be punished for
acting the way
he does
then I think
shit
his butt alone
could get him into heaven
He said he wouldn’t
love me if I
didn’t fight back
sure enough
I hit him and he cried
No more tears
we promised
and he bit my fist
to see if I could
hold to it
You’ll be sorry after
I’m gone he
utters in protest moving
closer to my
fist
I know he’s
right I
never forget a love
He doesn’t know me when
I’m angry he
says
he moves closer and
touches me like
a stranger
No need to try
to spare feelings
he knows I’m a
big boy
sometimes
His smile is mischievous
provocative
he has placed me between
his teeth
and holds me
unswallowed
His character is
impeccable in
this
he never smiles
without needing to
He doesn’t have to
prove he’s tough
I can see it
in his smile
How does he know
that I will never
leave him?
he doesn’t
If I left him I would
surely return
it doesn’t take
much to
bring me back
Not a chance for a
reconciliation?
absolutely not
he says
smiling
Sometimes he doesn’t feel
like having sex
at those times I
love him the most
It takes work to
love somebody so thoroughly
that there’s nothing
left over for
later
I can’t be with him
around the clock
he says
His hands thin
like monkey paws
he peels me like
a pro
He runs into the
room brandishing
an erection and
a smile
Your love
or your life!
He fell in love with
a picture of me
and I got jealous
A wonderful dinner
with friends he
shows off his distended
belly and I
think how nice
it would be to make
him pregnant
He’s not all
mine for Christsake
sometimes
he makes me
share him
He wanders into my
arms crying
when my shoulder is
thoroughly wet he
backs off (look of
satisfaction on his face
somewhere in his eyes
is a question that
has already been
answered
When I anger him
he goes to sleep
it always changes me
I don’t cry anymore when
he hits me
it only makes him stop
Bloodthirsty
angels have teeth
Hands on
his hips like
a Victorian vase
I could pick him up
and drink his
wrath
How beautiful when
he pouts
arms crossed and
butt sticking out
how can I
be serious my
hands on his
waist
It’s not like
I’m ever really
mean to him
I mean
what’s the point
he just cries?
I socked him and he
just smiled
it ruined my whole day
Heartless
at times
he is forced to
contain my love
in some of the
strangest places
If angels
haven’t hearts
what has he
where my
love should be?
He thinks when I smile
I am fooled by his words
I am merely
enjoying
his lies
Puss has eyes like his
wild and dark
ready for attack
even when he’s
purring
He is not
without
his faults
I have
savored every one
Last night we held
each other and cried
mutual pain brings fulfillment
Someday I’ll miss
these grumpy smiles
Betrayed
by a
stiff white towel
Crime
reaches the bedroom
in the form
of indifference
Socked in
on a rainy
afternoon
outside the
sun is heartless
I would give
the hair off my body
to bring laughter
to his
sullen face
His eyes
wet
and black
here is a storm I
cannot escape
The clock ticks
louder when
he’s gone
smells in the bed
collect memories
His arms
are delicate
when he’s gone
they leave a
shadow on the sheets
Sometimes I can
miss him
and not even
remember what he
looks like
but when I
look at him it is
always easy to
remember how
I missed him
No use
wondering where the
warmth has
gone
better to just
cry and wait for
winter to
set in
Someone moves the
earth beneath my
feet
and catches all
the feelings there
that fall
Damn this
unwanted silence
between us
who will be the first
to scream?
Is there something
that I haven’t
said?
No poems now
just bruises
Can’t think of any
better way to
part with love than to
leave it with a
promise to return
it’s so
easy someone
said
Leaving him won’t
be so hard
I know he’ll
need to see me
again
So we kiss on
each other’s
tears
what’s a little pain
among friends?
And I can be a
better husband now that
we have given
back the
rings
nothing now to keep us
apart
nothing more to
prove nothing
left to
lose nothing
binding but the
circle of our
hearts
Thank you for a
wonderful marriage he
says
I won’t cry if
you won’t
goodbye
goodbye
must be dust
in my eye
In his eyes there’s
something that
never moves
it’s a reflection of
me
unchanged as I
rise and fall
In years I
may forget
this
chubby little
dream
I’ll visit he says
and I’m sure he will
in time
I pose to him
a hundred
questions
he gives me one
simple undeniable
answer.
21 May 2017
When night closes her eyes, day is
imagined; when dawn blossoms, the moon is
gently blown out.
sometimes the world simply needs to
shut the fuck up and let the
comets have their day.
Sometimes a firefly illumines all the known
galaxies; why limit your choices? all of
this lives inside us; why go about
business-as-usual when the butterflies are
calling your name?
As long as one is breathing, one’s
choices are illimitable; and when
breath stops, the possibilities are
multiplied by the number of
stars upon the night’s mantle.
And this, my friend, is why I
drink—because the Night drinks with
me—and oh, the places we go!
20 May 2017
Art is an attempt to create order from
chaos. Chaos always wins. But we
make art anyway.
20 May 2017
I stand accused of believing that God
speaks to me: belief has nothing to
do with it—I’m not a big believer in
belief—must I believe the sky is
blue or that day follows night?
Secondly, I know for a fact that God
speaks to everyone—it is simply that
very few people choose to listen;
do you hear those crickets in the
night? (Good, now dive deeper.)
The Truth is resting on your
eyelashes, tickling your sensitive
parts; of course God speaks to me—
we have been Lovers since before
time was time.
Of course God speaks to me—that ,
isn’t the point:
Shhh, listen! the birds are calling, the
mountain rumbles, the stars buzz like
bees; listen:
HE IS SHOUTING IN YOUR EAR!

In cooperation with the Gavin Dillard archives in the James C Hormel LGBT Center of the San Francisco Public Library