1687 c/o Freckle Moon


I'm Sir Isaac Newton
and I'm gay as gravity on the moon.
Could a man of my beauty and golden
locks be anything else
besides an uncontrollably gay beast?
When I said to my mother, "Mother, I'm gay."
She said, "No, Isaac, what you meant to say was,
'Mother, I'm going to grow up to be a painter.'"

And, oh, how I wanted that so bad!
Daydreaming into my teacup
visions of a time machine that would take me back
to Michelangelo,
and we would fall in love and fuck and fondle all day,
and it would be my likeness touching God's feeble hand
on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Look through a telescope into my soul
and you will see
thousands of miniscule gay flags waving back,
like a calvary drowning in the ocean of religious standards,
standing on the shoulders of my giant erection.