Diatribe of the Virgin Homosexual

[Wildcard]

my Sodom is deserted,
the frame houses razed
and the cinders removed,
the lone salt idol long vanished --disintegrated instead? Vanished doesn't seem to capture it. I want something here that says 'was blown away by the wind', etc.
(she was a woman anyway).

my windows are open
but no one climbs in, -- 'my window is open' would make this already great pair of lines a little more personal, imo
no trainer on the sill
signals a presence,
only the cold
washes through the trees
like a housewife scrubbing
her son's underpants. -- great way of wording this. I see the dutiful connection

on screen men like me
are Byronic studs,
courting their fellows
like characters from
one of Oscar Wilde's wet dreams. --brings a smile
with shining torsos
and tormented eyes -- is 'tormented' right for this? Do you literally mean to say that they are tormented internally, or do you mean with lust? If the latter, I'd say 'fiery' would serve better, jmo
they lust and long
and discover themselves
while awaiting an award
for their bravery.

why are these actors always white?
always with perfect arses and
high on faux testosterone,
leaning and wincing like apes,
as though a hint of effeminacy
is the sign of a lesser human? --straight to the heart of the poem, right here.

I was not raised in Wyoming,
the sixties precede the year of my birth,
I'm not a cowboy
nor do I tend sheep,
so why am I supposed to find common ground
with the story of Brokeback Mountain? -- this seems a little preachy and not as distant as I'd like it to be-- I know I was saying 'personal' earlier, but you know how getting to know too much about a person changes your opinion of them? Well this was a little whiny and caused me to view the work that way. Just being honest.

were the love scenes that tender?
or were they simply erection starters?

perhaps I'm just bitter? -- . . . and then I feel a good return connection at this admission. I'm not sure if it is enough but it certainly is a good balance
yes, that's probably it.
when you're nineteen and never been kissed
and girls want to make you their fey wind up toy,
and men ask with horrified fascination,
like gawkers at the scene of some gruesome crime,
just how you can do "what you guys do,"
bitterness spreads like stain on a sheet
from a newly slain hymen. I really like how you brought this down to an end, but I would have to argue about 'slain' . . .

As always, your work is not only original and thoughtful, but also excellent.

Thanks for sharing