beardless boy
i am the axe
and the legs
and all the in-between things
i too want to go home
but i don’t know where he is
Colombia’s desert heart is no place for me
she did not send for you
but you came regardless
where is your cage, your kennel
Liberty’s cuckold.
She answers the door, tall and green and clad in Fairway bags
smelling slightly of petrol, wet copper, pigeon shit.
the one-two punch sings awake in my hands
an exhalation of violence after weeks of drowning
breath raw with salt
“hello”
“hello”
I see the devil they would have me be
He is cut from monochrome, blurred by the flash and tarnish of subway cars and elevator windows.
Redcap, svartalf, he is blood and fists and teeth.
He is in the scream and the black and the gentle trembling of benches in Washington Square Park.
In the speeding glass, twisted hair gives way to a crown of tangled horns,
Un-eyes curiously inspect each other
I grin.
He grins.
I grin.
“hello”
“hello”
I get on the subway.
I do not even beat anyone to death.
even the Aryan boy who calls me a filthy kike with his eyes.
and the woman who clutches him to her, shapes it into three loving syllables with her tongue.
these shoulders were bred to build the pyramids, to dig mass graves, to carry the weight of my dead.
I am a perfect Punnett square of subjugated force and systematic hatred.
what makes you think I won’t kill you, novillera;
— because I’m a nice, Jewish boy,
and I have a modicum of respect for the NYC Metro custodial staff.
(although I’m pretty sure blood mops off aluminum like that)
and because you are the first person to make eye contact with me today and feel.
which is something.
