[He Said it Bummed Him Out His Dick Didn’t Work Anymore]
He said it bummed him out his dick didn’t work anymore.
But it was never about dick for us. Was it. Though for a while
it was all about dick for him. San Francisco dick. Far far away
from his brutal fireman father. And me. He could finally do what
he wanted with his dick and other people’s dicks. And dress as I
Love Lucy. And write a serial featuring Dyke Van Dick. And refer
to himself when not wearing dress and wig as an existential cowboy.
“The charismatic impresario of all we did” Alan said of him. But that
wasn’t how it was for us. We did not waste our charisma on each other.
Did not dress for each other. Or did I dress for him a little bit. Did
I perform for him. I knew no other way. The last time I saw him.
Before he lost his mind and filled with ocean. Died. He said Di
your body changed. I’d just given birth to a ten pound baby. Jesus
Christ. What do you want from me. What did you ever want from me.
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