Patrick McCauley
A Bunch of Flowers for Saint Valentine’s Day
Sweet breath of Heaven.
You have written again in Italian
the beloved has no gender role
nor race nor age nor woolly hole.
it was a rider riding by
who sat with me one wet july
and wept with me in the deepest dark
and lay with me through the florid night.
Though I will agree I saw your face
last night upon the curtain lace.
The billabong was dry as dust
the moon was swelled with fleshy lust.
Beloved begone, you murder me
but stay tonight a little while.
Come to my bed you lusty girl
let me whisper in your fur.
Patrick McCauley
My Country
Am I gay? said the Oz
or am I a lazy boy?
Do you believe, he was asked.
Do you really believe beyond
the evidence of your eyes
beyond your smell
beyond what you hear or read
beyond even your memory or through mind?
Do you believe in us, Oz?
she was asked again
(for he was also she)
if you cannot we
will not let you in.
You must say yes to…
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