A love poem
the gayest retard at the rodeo, Buck Henry.
known throughout these parts, sometimes high, but mostly low.
those that were around whisper of his greatness,
the stunning form with which he wrangled,
a mind built for gayness, to the breaking of bucks
of honest-stock and a good home.
thru the high-theory that informed his gay-praxis,
he projected an arc, a transformative rainbow
a way out of this yawning hell.
by altering our perception, to take us through
not above or below
but by using his retard-fag parabola,
a transgressive path, made of worried souls,
only he could do it though, our cowardice was laid bare,
his a rupture, a piercing of this corporeal veil,
into the “Beyond” of faggotry, a place of respite for those tired of toil.
an iconoclast for the ages, a transcended being,
a prophet for after the end, when all is said and done,
so these yarns are spun, regional lore honors that beautiful soul.
he flitted about with a waifish air,
a rare grace that spoke of west-texas
a fluidity of movement that sang a song,
of barren fields and abandoned homes,
oil derricks lay neglected, the detritus of a society blinded by the sun.
but make no mistake that boy was ‘tarded up
one would surmise, based on strength,
alone.
but his body was lithe, it spoke of fecundity, good soil.
we worshipped his visage, groveled before this messiah
of dumb shit and bad jokes.
revered in our hearts, Buck’s fawning postulates he left to this world
we tell his stories, we sing his songs
a youthful smile of beatific innocence,
a sanctified memory, now a tumbleweed ghost
buried in the hinterlands, beyond life and bliss and harmony,
a djinn now shimmering behind eyelids tightly shut.
a lilac soul of halcyon dream-states.
— Dan R. dropped out of community college twice and wasted his twenties playing bike messenger. He lives on Minnesota’s North Shore and is allegedly a Catholic again.