A Sense of Safety

When the queer professor spoke,
Herb's mama would not let Herb commute
to his sophomore organ lessons on campus,
but locked him in his room all day long
since she didn't know for sure
what hour would be spoiled.

In his room, Herb floated
through Mahler's "Resurrection Symphony"
remembering how Mama used to starch
his shirt and parade her "little man"
up and down the block every afternoon.

A sense of safety guided Herb
to retrieve Playgirl
from far out on the rafters of his closet.
He sprayed an odd sock with sperm.

Mama squeaked in her porch swing
imagining dry cathedral resonance
in which Little Man played
"Toccata and Fugue" to thousands
as she sparkled at the front.

The queer professor talked of Michelangelo.

By Louie Crew

Peasant Privacy in the Forbidden City

Big Nose winked in Mao's gate.
I think he took my bait
and turned around to follow
--I hope. Maybe not. Ten
more may squat or piss; then
he my white jade will swallow.

He smells too sweet, but's thick.
I'll, dangling, suck his dick,
or, heels thrust in the hollow

of his back, astride neck,
I'll goo his throat; peck, peck
his baldness, for a dollar.

At least the last one shared
that much. I wait, ass bared.
Big Nose, Big Nose, follow.

By Louie Crew


                  "Give      me
some head,"
the dude
grimly said.

I wanted to hold him in my arms, to
feel the weight of him on top of me. I
wanted to scratch love marks down his
back and to watch him enjoy being alive.

But down I
went and
gave him
only what he
asked for.
Both lost.

By Louie Crew
(Louie Crew has edited special issues of
College English and Margins, Has
written four poetry volumes
Sunspots (Lotus Press,
Detroit, 1976)
Midnight Lessons (Samisdat, 1987),
Lutibelle's Pew (Dragon Disks,

1990), and Queers! for Christ's Sake!
(Dragon Disks, 2003).)