Please God, don't let Christmas come
Without my Randolph Taylor.
My quest is still a painful one:
Adrift at sea, a lonesome sailor.
I can't believe that he is dead,
His soul bound to the quilt.
Oh can't this be another man,
Same name, in golden gilt?)
How many years I've walked this path
Of love's devotion on the cross,
Only to echo The Devil's laugh:
"You lost, you lost, you lost!"
I pray, I guess, for miracles,
Each breath a sacred wish:
My heart a candle in the dark,
Or in the deep blue ocean, a single
"Please help me stop the dying," was
Randolph's tender plea,
Scrolled across a letter:
The first he sent to me.
But now my sadness falls like rain,
And drowns my joy like a broken toy.
I cannot bear this pain.
I cannot bear not knowing
How you, dear Randolph, are.
(My heart forever glowing, whether
near or far
For a man who gave me everything
And set my course to a star!)
Without you, my dear Randolph,
I have no way to steer.
The waves are crashing 'gainst the prow;
The clouds are tumbling near!
I yearn for you my chipmunk,
My little piece of Heaven.
If my soul were a loaf of bread,
Your kiss would be the leaven.
Quilt display in San Francisco's City Hall, November 1992 (Honoring S.F. police who died of AIDS.)
great warrior whose brave men and women perished in battle, still
stands tall before her enemies. Unslain and proud, she dances the war
dance high up on a ridge, where the enemies stare from below. They are
boiling with anger, for now, she taunts!
Suddenly, her left knee
is pierced with an arrow...yet still she dances. The limp she has
acquired in no way diminishes the nobility of The Dance; in fact it
honors her more! So much so, that the Great Spirit lifts her off the
earth and into the sky, to praise this fine warrior's indomitable
The enemies, seeing this, grow jealous. So her other
knee is struck, and, amazingly, our brave warrior does not fall back to
earth, but dances on, and is elevated even higher! Then a shower of
arrows pierces her all over...yet still she dances, never missing a
step in her prideful display: the feathers of her headdress touch the
blazing sun itself, unsinged!
Still more arrows rain upon her,
and her flesh falls away. Her body parts all drop off, one by one...yet
she still dances so nobly, so beautifully! There is nothing left of her
now, but a dancing skeleton. Then even her bones fall, and what remains
after this? Her spirit, dancing!
For she *is Little Pony, brave
warrior of the Sun, who dances in the sky--silver unicorn with pink
aura--celebrating the liberation of all her earthly gay sisters and
brothers across this tiny globe. So remember this: whether the sun is
shining or not, or if it is on the other side of the planet: Little
Pony is dancing for you, for your victory. Little Pony is invincible,
for she *is The Spirit of Gay Pride.
And sometimes when you
squint up at Father Sun--especially at dusk--you will see Little Pony
dancing. And if you tell her "thank you", you will find her also
dancing in your heart, forever.