one seeing a transvestite in the park.

 

 

 

   First of all,

   I am not a fan of caliginous spaces.

   As dark mascara on forgotten

   w****s, bother me to the quick.

   Please,

   come closer and allow

   the appeal of soft and silky

   texture.

   Now,

   anything dark furthers the

   effeminate mannerisms

   on Marlborough memorabalia;

   the camp of artificial

   eyes.

 

 

   It's ok.

 

 

   Girdles and bras like kitten

   flesh, candies against me like

   a coroners veins. A good place

   (skin) when even Eden cant

   atone for edgy

   sacrifice.

 

 

   Is my skirt short enough?

   My wig a sacrifice of another

   humans hair, my glaze

   brilliant;

   My skin too proxy to

   compare?

   The scrabble on my

   heels,

   the awful, awful

   writings of the

   wounded.

  

 

 

   Could those be

   stockings or pantyhose

   your wearing?

   No, my dear,

   neither scorpions

   or scree

   at the base of

   the opulent hill,

   can fly.             

 

      hder

Reviews

[...]

. this is a fascinating piece of writing ... and incredibly poignant too ... when i see a transvestite ... even i see "the awful, awful writings of the wounded" ... hopefully we will be in a freer world sometime in the future ... and the "wounded" will not have to assert themselves visually just to be acknowledged ...

[ghost writer]

gently scathing..LOL..the ideals of woman in our society conforming to a stereotype which seems like a parody of the very thing that they are fighting against..if you get me? Again I like your style..

[Emily B]

poets are not built or made, they are born, those without will never be