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CLIMAX. POEM. (unreleased demo)


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


This frac

tured truth

jaws my gaping wounds.

In this bloody intimacy

it demands I bewail its name.


This breaking beast daggers

my every absent vein.

Within a murder scene of crows, whispers

you can't name me better than I can.


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.


I say his name just to curse it.

Toxic mas to don

Venomed mas querade

Lethal mas sacre[d]

Toxic mas


-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?


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