Waiting in the dark for the train, the ode is pulling me on, cry to the wind, I am a part of the dark. Darker, and darker still I am the dirty green train seats which are so lucid in the morning. Throw it all away I am free the night is calling, I will dance. I will dance, I am coming, I answer the song of the winds and the train pulling me on into unknown darkness. Darker and darker still. And I’m dancing, at first shy, but the song gives me courage it is my strength and I find that I will always love myself. Even after a night of screaming. I want to scream so bad. Hidden in dark corners, the darklight illuminates us in the corners. I didn’t know him but it doesn’t matter this is what I do. Ode to the wind that I am. I’m throwing myself into it and it feels so good. Abandon morals at the door. And if I hurt myself, I will still love myself in the end.
Wake up confusion. Head hurts, ass hurts. Was it good? I can’t remember and he tries to hug me. I can pretend that he’s the love I’m searching for, for awhile. Let’s hold each other and forget everything. This is such a powerful drug. It almost makes you believe. But the morning brightness brings things into focus, slowly. You’re not so good looking. And that’s all that matters for now.
The sunlight is slanting, blinding in the kitchen with mirrors and planters in an alley. It’s so cozy, I want to imagine it’s mine and we love each other. But the ode of the wind plays on and I know it’s not true. I can pretend for now, but always? I trace the Dutch whitewashed ceiling with my eyes, and follow the curving patterns. Over coffee we share some laughs, I deepen my voice to maintain my manhood. Don’t think I’m a fucking twink. Just because I let you fuck me…don’t think I can’t stand on my own.
The lilting music entices and entrances. I’ll dance out the door, down the stairs, thanks for the night I guess. I’m still drunk as I walk down the street in the midday sun, looking for the train station. Oui je peux vous aider, monsieur, la Belgie? on peut y aller directemente par traine, mais tout d’abord il faut aller a Amsterdam Centraal. And the Dutch words run through my head as the train rushes me back to the apartments. Hoi, alles goed? Goedenacht, avondmelange, ik heet Doug, ik kom uit Canada. Overveen train station?
I feel so dirty now, yet alive. Take a shower, clean my underwear, take out my contacts, brush my teeth, wash my face. The drops fall from my eyelashes. In a towel and glasses scribing last night. Was it worth it? Am I learning who I am? There is no answer.
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