FUEL

 

 

Is the first bar on Main Street to herald a rainbow flag

Hoisting a shadow of flagellating pride

over the dead-tooth neon sidewalks

Overturned chandelier caricatured fingers

Reverberating subwoofers, lolling baritone

Dirge, Hopscotch of variegated strobe casting

Keyhole silhouettes

Genderless splotch

 Human beings gyrating

Cogs and pistons in a Caterpillar tractor

Dancing into the peach of dawn.

 

Fuel is the boys with short hair, tucked in white shirts

Sometimes wearing dresses and heels  and glitter

Salt and pepper shaker

Chafed genitals, vowels of the night

Finding yourself in every shot you slam at the bar

Angel on your tongue

Feather of your name.

 

Fuel is

The chromosome furl of an awareness ribbon

Limbs marching in stonewell stalks of denim,

 Knowing when to DV8

Into the side alley Underground  popping

Pomegranate seeds with Persephone like ecstasy

 

Fuel is the drip your smile creates

Every time it exhales

Dalliance of chemicals kissing diesel

Life breath with spring air.

 

Fuel is kindness of a proprietor

who buys drinks for patrons,

Another round for everyone

Courage to disintegrate the

flippancy of social barriers

last brick culled from the blockade in Berlin

 

and Fuel is the heat your body gives off

crackling in an incendiary nest

welts and flames,

swilled cognizance

 errant blink

diva’s bow, flicker applause

 punctuating heave

last breath knowing

that you gave

every sip of bottled

 oxygen for strangers

to stay warm.

 

 

--Todd Scholl

 

1966-2013