a torture to dismiss

for dana

 

 

 

   Snatch off his hat as he relishes the moon, it's ok.

   Thats right, put the bullseye on the enfemme

   black boys back (he-he) who,

   they say, wears panties for trowsers,

   runs and throws like a girl,

   mimics embrace,

   smells funny

   and  does perfectly

   good words

   terribly wrong.

   He is fodder for the

   province, so place

   him in front of the

   shantung firing squad

   and nod yes.

   It's ok.

   Play bongos with his

   fingertips of shame

   then sink him like a stone.

   He's already damaged

   you understand, and

   feels little pain, so

   remember, whatever

   hurt he allows is

   the spoils of your perfection.

 

 

   Now injure him, inject his

   sissy molding

   with fear for your liking.

 

 

   Whatever happens he will

   tell his parents not to fear;

   present as steady, confident

   and command.

   Though he makes

   crystal from the ice

   ledge, relucent, glittering

   dolls from the dusk corner,

   assigns names and genders

   to forks and spoons

   remarks how very clean

   the sun looks

   and counts his

   remorse

   out loud.          

 

 

                     hder

  

Reviews

[Corset]

I died in this write, I pulled my bobo monkey up close and held on for dear life, the self portrait in this makes me want to hold something close and whisper words of safety and adoration for the open child's bleeding heart laying out before me on the icy linolium.
They could see the honor in you, and having none themselves made them vicious. I'm reading all your poems today, well as much as I can before the heartbreak rips me into a trillion peices like this one did...true or not, no one tells a story the way you can.

[ghost writer]

LOL to Emilys review! Anyway..I am falling for your unique style..there is something refreshing about your writing..loving it

[Emily B]

somehow you reminded me of this poem

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/katherinevanessawhiteley/167868/

not much of a review, sorry, i'm going to blame the whiskey