Ok. Alright. I'm already cheating because I wrote this poem years ago. It was okay. It's much better now, in fact it's been polished until it glistens. I'm putting it here because I worked on it this morning while the sun came up, and I need to prove to myself that I'm capable of putting the best words in their best order.

This poem is called Identity Crisis.

I have friends who are straight,
Who grew up (and still live) in Brighton and Clayton, and

Aspire to coherent narratives

And children.

I have friends who are queer,
They're splitting rent and cable in Fawkner and Sunshine, and
Ignore hypothetical imperatives

With abandon.

Some of my best friends are guys
With beards and bluffs and disguises

Pissing in streets and scratching themselves.

Some of my best friends are girls
With hearts or throats still unfurling

Weeping off makeup touched up through the day.

One of my gay friends from Northcote
Acts straight behind fences while pissing south
Into drains running east towards Westgarth.

One of my girlfriends from Kooyong
Dreamed of fucking in Westgarth while planning her wedding
In alleys and love while out of control.

Some of my drunk friends are dancers
Who scratch souls when fucking
Those hard girls proposing
To drainpipes and pickets
The tough guys take
Pictures and pills to diminish
An evening spent with a
Man in an alley

Sham pain dripped away
On the south side of Northcote
Revealing a genderfucked queer
Who'd forgotten to cry
After night after night
Spent in urine soaked drains.

Some of my best friends
Sold and controlled
Lost their bodies on back streets
While freeing their hearts
To wander through suburbs
Of dreamers and dancers
Who've all at one time
Cried off the face they were wearing that day.