Shame

For the smooth-looking

.

Pretending to be blank, you

.

You.

.

– Melted wax,

Still cold –

Still wax.

.

For the scribbled paper

Crumpled, and thrown

Right into the bin.

.

– Open it: it’s blank,

Blank, a void, yet

Again. You.

.

For the uncrumpled, the deceiving

And the paper.

.

You –

Stamped bodies

Bizarre breasts, distorted

Them. You.

.

Seal the void

Of sex

With the wax

Of shame.

Shame

epicene-writings:

For the smooth-looking

Pretending to be blank, you

You.

– Melted wax,
Still cold –
Still wax.

For the scribbled paper
Crumpled, and thrown
Right into the bin.

– Open it: it’s blank,
Blank, a void, yet
Again. You.

For the uncrumpled, the deceiving
And the paper.
You –
Stamped bodies
Bizarre breasts, distorted
Them. You.

Seal the void
Of sex
With the wax
Of shame.

epicene-writings:

Just another regular anecdote

… She had said, and i

Was sitting on the bed

I had not a right to anymore.

*

C’mon, i thought, you knew

This was bound to happen!

You’ve rehearsed the play over,

And over again;

You know exactly

What to do.

No suitcase, yet, but eventually

They’ll probably allow you one

Since she likes it when things are done

The way they ought to.

For now, your school

Backpack, your laptop, phone, and chargers;

Your textbooks, notebooks, school books

So as not to fall behind – Remember,

You have to get out of there.

(You know exactly

What to do.)

Then underwear, some pants, and shirts

And don’t forget

Your poetry book.

You’ll stand

Outside, on another street,

And give her a call; she’s your friend,

And got her own flat

In the city, after all.

She’ll surely offer shelter

For a few nights, and you’ll tell her

You’ll do the dishes, take no space

And be quiet. You know

How to be quiet; it’s been so long!

Quick! You’re running out of time,

And it’s not

As if you had ever liked this house

And the whole life she carved out

For you anyway.

You know exactly

What to do!

So why won’t you do it?

Now, why are you still sitting

On that bed? The cat

Isn’t purring in your lap;

You have no excuses

To delay your not-so-dramatic exit.

Quick! They want you

Out, so get out, and take

Your things, since

You know exactly

What to do!

*

And the door

Squeaked slowly, and he

– My father –

Stepped in, declared

Somber, and looking

At the window:

“Dinner’s ready. She

Changed her mind. You stay,

But she won’t eat with you

Or have contact anymore.

Now think

Of a proper apology.”

*

And i followed him

Through their house,

Then sat in the kitchen,

Eating her dinner.

epicene-writings:

I wanted to call it “Antigone” or something (but I didn’t)

We were walking – walking

Towards flaming

Bushes of knives…

.

(The ocean smelled

Of rotten eggs;

Mad dogs trod on

Its ghostly trees)

.

Light on metal

Blinded us, as

We tripped and trampled –

Walking, walking.

epicene-writings:

I wanted to call it “Antigone” or something (but I didn’t)

We were walking – walking

Towards flaming

Bushes of knives…

.

(The ocean smelled

Of rotten eggs;

Mad dogs trampled

Its ghostly trees)

.

Light on metal

Blinded us, as

We tripped and stumbled –

Walking, walking.

epicene-writing:

you entered the void

so long ago

that your skin smells of it

and your feet bruise from it

.

you entered the void

and still enter, every day

and every drop of light

illuminates your path

devoid of night

devoid of stars

.

you entered the void

and don’t even see anymore

that it fills your lungs

a blueish smoke

and only sometimes

recall the void

you’ve walked through

for a whole life

.

you disappear. the void claimed you

it is the law, and no loopholes

are to be found:

the void unraveled you

long-haired child

nurtured, and cared for you

for a while

and nobody reclaimed you

and nobody demanded you

.

you’ve been raised by the void

and now you legally belong

to it

you’ve been raised by the void

and you dissolve

into the void

leaving a stone, a mark

and an hollering shriek

.

leaving a stone, a mark

and an hollering shriek