Prickly
the young hair of a Chia pet doesn't properly convey
how much bite your sting infected me.
nor, does my lie, that there was anything worth
surmising with tangles of telephone cord.
handset was torn off the wall as your cacti skin
rubbed against my cheek and i could not, for the life
of me see a way to change how i felt. so i might say
that you are cast out, though it be more true that
i am the castaway. so when the sun bites me with
energetic notions of warmth and vitamin D, i will refuse
and slip in arsenic to provide as a salve for my skin.
be it tomorrow or yesterday there is not enough in god's
blue marble to warrant my own persecution. looking
myself in the eye as blades scratch off peach fuzz
from a face unable to construct the semblance of manhood.
secondary sex characteristics limited to groin, and no
way of fathoming how i ever got to a place where i cared
to man-scape for your sake. let's back off a moment as i hang up
the phone and drop it down among coiled snake of cord
and realize that there was nothing new. the old story
retold the rebuked, rebuked again, and this ultimate
story leading to isolation. and a hedgehog scurries
forward and plants itself upon my wrist and there
is no topside to poke and prod me but a soft underbelly
that might make him indistinguishable from his distant
cousin - the guinea pig. i am suited fine to this life,
watching fiction unwind, slasher knives penetrate victims
but id rather cry at romances that last, and your birthday
present sits ten years on, a Chia pet that stings me
but has yet to be thrown away.
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