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@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; During A Long Journey By Rail
On the Transiberian (Moscow behind us; ahead, Vladivostock),
we wondered if we would find a Soviet necropolis crammed
with bureaucrats, functionaries and murderers---
at this last Party Congress of the Bolshevik damned:
these murderers, mass slaughterers, of our Orthodox Brethren
have learned that their Hell does not supply an opiate of the people.
And you XingGuan---raised in Wyoming; and a Homosexual Beauty
(despite the homophobia rampant throughout your home state)---
have already slipped off your shoes so that your semi-sheer
dress socks provocative fragrance (which I already know to be,
also, the flavor they bring to my mouth and tongue nightly)
permeates this rather cozy first-class compartment. The
volume of Tyutchev's poems, with its very dog-eared, very
highlighted lines (you like "neon pink"), as we vocally imagined
Gorky's return to Capris, and his preference for "that
other side" of the island: "other" because, there, adolescent
boys, who loved each other (engorged, liked to swim naked together,
far from the prying, judgmental glares of prejudiced thugs and prudes).
Starward-Led
