CLIMAX. POEM. (unreleased demo)
1.
Masculinity is too often
Wildfired explosion entrapped in a body
Waiting for oxygen to catalyst
the hydrogen bomb
It was taught to bro
ken into
1.
This frac
tured truth
jaws my gaping wounds.
In this bloody intimacy
it demands I bewail its name.
1.
This breaking beast daggers
my every absent vein.
Within a murder scene of crows, whispers
you can't name me better than I can.
0.
Say confidence. Adorn your broken. Ridiculed if you don’t. Say insecurity. Lockbox your eyes from its poison. Roadkill if you don’t. Masculine. Masquerade. Masturbate. Only your kind can speak self-pleasuring so you seem less shattered sand than gilded glass. Mass. Mastodon. Massacre. There's a crumbling cathedral inside your hands. Don't point out its grey stained glass. How the glisten often blinds wordless eyes. And bleeds. Everything does in the end.
1.
I say his name just to curse it.
Toxic mas to don
Venomed mas querade
Lethal mas sacre[d]
Toxic mas
2.
-culinity. To delineate myself from masks or mastodon masquerades
that toxify my softening,
I must remember; listen to the
honeysuckle my mother milked for my infancy.
How her pink carnality of boqueted carnations
bled fountain upon mounted fountain
Til I was sectioned out her womb a lifted lotus.
2. Why does our culture actively
colonize, commodify landscapes of body birthing most?
I wash the blood of every ancestral brokening,
axe away at the walls embedded in my ears, grain
by grain.
2. I sing confidence and insecurity in the same melody.
I roadkill a lockbox and hear a mask splitting itself open.
Bloodless wound.
I am both shattered sand and gilded glass
I will not apologize for it or my queerness.
My mother’s and sister’s lineages have mastodoned themselves down
with too many insincere “sorry”s
for men that would rip the silence from their throat
and violence the baton-passed violent down theirs.
2. I steal back my arteries hidden within a murder scene of crows.
my sister and mother held veined daggers hidden under their skin
all this time.
2. I bewail blood from my wounds, find a man I can finally love
Both another and myself.
for even just an unbrokening unmasquerade.
2. I was taught to live as broken hydrogen bomb
I should strive to become oxygen in a body that doesn't trap itself
In a wildfire of crimson explosion.
Can anyone show me, show me what I cannot fathom?
Three.