it read more as an orgiastic cuddle-fest, really
than it did an orgy. it echoes the innocence
of school boys who discover the intimacy afforded
by their simultaneous pubescence, that vague sexual awakening.
there were five in the filth
of glitter. everywhere glitter. it could be likened
to an awareness demonstration of the dangers of casual sex
where glitter signifies communicable disease.
it got onto all of the bodies, in this dramatic restaging
of boys learning how to fly and how
to never grow old. a flight in tandem
into the continual discovery of youth’s shimmer.
there was a sailor boy, a boy dressed as peter pan,
a sock-monkey, a photo booth photo (a favorite,
a long cardboard box with three self-portraits and in place
of the fourth there was a rectangular frame
where his head stuck out), and a fifth boy
who provided the bulk of the glitter. he was the messenger
god of old greek myths: gold, glorious and faux-winged.
they were all seduced by this spectacle of lights
which was the glittered black duvet resembling the pane
of a star-chipped lake or the confetti littered linoleum
of some prom’s dance floor. a tabby dragged reality
back into the scene. the cat’s dander was invisibly sprinkled
over the sparkly boys. it snuck into the throat
of the fifth, the god, and as his eyes watered, each lost
boy fell from the sky, one by one, like ripened apples.
the boys, who each dared to push the limits of his wings,
hinged with wax, were now cometing from the heights
as if they had forgotten what made them.