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A Late Reply to In Flanders Fields (1987)

Posted on Nov 8, 2011 in Fiction, Poetry

In college I read John McCrea’s1915 poem about World War I and a number of responses, also in rondeau form.

Neither McCrea’s work or the responses reflected my own feelings. Here are the original, a jingoistic response written soon afterward by R.W. Lilliard, and my late reply.

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Trash Fish Banquet (1996)

Posted on Nov 7, 2011 in Events, Fiction, Newsletters, Poetry

And now the codfish all are gone / And still the fishermen fish on / And species once considered trash / Are looked upon as source of cash

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Poison Frog (1998)

Posted on Nov 7, 2011 in Fiction, Poetry

I dreamed I saw a poison frog / I longed to touch it with my tongue / To taste its bitter deadly skin / And take its toxins deep within

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Wrong Body (For Jason Cromwell) (1995)

Posted on Nov 7, 2011 in Fiction, Gender, Magazines, Poetry

It wasn’t a question of wrong body. It was a question of right body, wrong characteristics and a tune-up was required. And so I have resculpted it, made it more to my liking. Gained this, lost that. Paid technicians to make some modifications. Took pills which made me grow in important places and shrink in important places, and I have gone under the knife for the things the pills could not give me.

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They Say (1996)

Posted on Nov 7, 2011 in Fiction, Gender, Magazines, Poetry

They say “You should be happy with the body you have.” They say this through capped teeth, looking at me through eyeglasses, breathing through noses resculpted, their faces lifted by plastic surgeons, their breasts shaped by bags full of silicone.

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Sarah in a Suitcase (1997)

Posted on Nov 6, 2011 in Events, Fiction, Gender, Newsletters, Poetry

I wrote this poem on my way home from the transgender event Fantasia Fair, having witnessed a profound awakening during the week and an emotional crash when it was time to go home.

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We Are The Transgendered (1993)

Posted on Nov 6, 2011 in Fiction, Gender, Newsletters, Poetry

We are your bosses, your employees. We work next to you in the assembly line. We drive your cabs, your buses, your taxis. We fly your planes, we sail your ships, we drive your locomotives. We deliver your paper, stock the shelves in your groceries, ring up your purchases. We cook your food in restaurants, and we bring it to your table. We build your cars in Detroit.

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Down and Coming Out at the Ross Fireproof Hotel [Play] (2004)

Posted on Nov 3, 2011 in Fiction, Gender, Plays

I really did live in the Ross Fireproof Hotel when I was 18 years old. I had many adventures, including my first orgasm, as described, while crossdressed in downtown Nashville. I was kicked out of the Ross just as described in the script. The manager refused to believe the “woman in my room” was actually me.

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Night Ride (1993)

Posted on Oct 27, 2011 in Book Chapters, Chrysalis Quarterly, Fiction, Gender, Magazines, Short Stories, Speculative Fiction

Bicycles have changed, and yet they are the same. They are still silent running and breezes in your hair and sweaty palms from holding onto handlebars too long. They are leaning into curves and riding without hands, pumping hard when you go uphill, and coasting when you can find a downhill. Modern bikes only remotely resemble those I rode when I was a kid the first time, but the old-time feeling is still there, fresh as ever it was and ever will be.

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