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Two Eulogies photo


I begin to write a eulogy for
a guy who doesn't exist.
The eulogy is always about 
a guy who doesn't exist.

He was Roman Catholic;
he died of AIDS in 1994.

He had written letters about what
love between men and men was,

what it meant for God to love,
what it meant to give yourself to God,

but I can never finish it:
I know he probably existed.


Staring out to the pond dried up,
there are no catfish in it anymore.
If we want catfish to exist in the pond,
we would, when we wanted, throw
dried pellets of food in the pond.

This was their life until the pond
dried up and they were swallowed
by the cowbirds, laying there, gasping:
“It's all so cruel, it's all so cruel.”