For Richard Monnier

in the close quarters of rickshaw’s

between hickory and fell

queer bodies rolled

like chesapeake tides

east coast queercore

revelieries, shouting

no man will ever love me like I need him to

while back home

your photos stir under six feet of clutter

newspaper clippings, leather harnessed you

tramping up california’s capitol

shouting

to die a closeted man

is to die a closeted man

years before you

and your friends

found a House In Virginia^[1]

with cocktails and a month-to-month lease.

^[1] House in Virginia is a polite, dinner table way of saying somebody has HIV/AIDS.