In a valley of pleasure
You took it in, stuck it out, pulled it on, shot it up
Flesh red from leather and needles

A church with no roof
Rimbaud on a cross
No cloth, only loin

Puritans crushed
Prudence reviled
Drawn penises photographed

Dancing barefoot
She whirled around you
Lifted you up, she lifts you up

From the street, from the bed
Refusing your time to pass away
You were just kids along with the disease

Proud of your dust
Queer predecessors wash, rinse, repeat
Bathing in your scripture

Yet, today, nannies mind babies
and microwave Fresh Direct
where you gave head

Next to your empty deathbed
Girly boy boas are flattened under
books of criticism and theory

They don’t know the Bowery
still hears your heels clicking
Just yesterday, some bricks on Bond
said they miss your shadow

And there are still some freaks left
who would snort your ashes