The clock’s hands arrested
At the time our lips came.
The blood rushing in our temples
Overcame the ticking.

The air hurried into silence
As our hearts synced, beating.
The rift coming between us
Traced back and forth, rekindling.

Bother flees our skin
And doubt sinks in quicksand.
For sure, for certain,
As your fingers navigate
Every wrinkle in my hand,

And I catch your shoulder,
Yet to be chiseled, for wars,
From the weight of a gun,
Full of light, you let pass,

Piercing through,
Peering for my soul,
Searching for each crevice
To comfort and assure.

Your other hand,
Driven unto madness
Of an unrelenting encore,
Scouring for the ungrasped
And the worded whispers
To beg earnestly for.

… And time up on his chamber
Painted pictures just to remember
That moment he arrested his hands
To give two lovers an unafflicted chance…

No, no, no,
that's not how it happened at all.
Precocious children
have never been afforded that much influence
and Emperors, then as now
are largely unafflicted by shame.

And it's a good thing too
- why, if the story had gone
the way Anderson had it,
neither I nor any of the men of the town
would have our jobs
at the Magic Cloth factory

You do realise
that the trade in Magic Cloth
supports all the world's major economies now,
don't you?

Nor would the aristocracy
look half so stylish,
sashaying hither and thon
in the glorious altogether,
applauded by the taste-makers
and notably contemptuous
of child-like observation.

Oh how I love Thy holy Word,
Thy gracious covenant, O Lord!
It guides me in the peaceful way;
I think upon it all the day.

What are the mines of shining wealth,
The strength of youth, the bloom of health!
What are all joys compared with those
Thine everlasting Word bestows!

Long unafflicted, undismay'd,
In pleasure's path secure I stray'd;
Thou mad'st me feel thy chast'ning rod,
And straight I turned unto my God.

What though it pierced my fainting heart,
I bless'd Thine hand that caused the smart:
It taught my tears awhile to flow,
But saved me from eternal woe.

Oh! hadst Thou left me unchastised,
Thy precepts I had still despised;
And still the snare in secret laid
Had my unwary feet betray'd.

I love Thee, therefore, O my God,
And breathe towards Thy dear abode;
Where, in Thy presence fully blest,
Thy chosen saints for ever rest.

Muriel, it’s been forty-four years and
I still think about you everyday.
I met you in the rain on the last day
of 1972, the same day I resolved to **** myself.
You were the **** store employee
wearing a chartreuse shirt. I was, of course,
the naked thirty-something with a few good teeth,
unafflicted by any social diseases.
You told me I had great veins.

snow and humidity flow wealth
deal slow spoken depart of evening dusk
geography gave its classic crowning achievement
banks of breeze
chrysanthemum, artemisia, dahlia profusion
teeming between vast favelas
undulating urban inscribed temple example
contributes to interlude
unafflicted infrastructure officially released
an array of agglomerations and organisms

fantasy spoke understanding
capacity to cope
innermost insulation in the valley
small lessons prepared immune defense
immense swaths of civilization plan
an accumulation of saplings
prestige expanding on the edges of periphery
trees rooted in tribal transformation
movement conceived by branches
an acquisition of blooms abounding

connectivity involving strategic placement, intuitive responses, orchestrated shift
combination of changes to communicate an aesthetic of nature
a perceptual intellectual engagement to negotiate the cumulative effect
the manner in which a sense seems to take shape
through elements overhead

sculpted mindset of synthesis
animates the dynamics
a characteristic
a reservoir of peace
paradise components
dazzling province
metropolis of permanence

those words moved across my skin with a familiarity i could not (at first) pin down but i knew that i knew them so well
and you in your infinite wisdom and kindness
being wholly unafflicted with our generation's pervasive emotional purblindness
you realized the words had struck a chord within me
and that brought out in you your innate sensitivity

my silent tears were soaking into your t-shirt when your phone screen illuminated my face
so you attempted to get a read on my emotional state and headspace
but i reassured you because it was the furthest thing from your fault

it was just that that song had dredged up some feelings
that i had long since forgot
memories of a time and a place and a boy
that had caused me more pain than they'd ever brought me joy

you gave me a chance to talk if i wanted
and when i passed it up you just changed the subject
and held me a little bit closer
hugged me a little bit tighter
and didn't say a word

because you didn't need to
as we laid there in the dark and sang
our harmonies tangling
hanging in the still night air
until at last i fell asleep, still safely held in your arms
the last thing in my head the sound of us singing all my favorite songs

I feel so empty, so numb.

I look into your eyes and feel nothing,
nothing but fear.
Fear for how bad it will hurt.
Hurt like your first scraped knee.
Kneecaps quivering like leaves.
Leaves that change color seasonally.
Seasons that change around me.
Me?
Unafflicted.
Me?
Empty.

So boys always say they're more sensitive
they get hurt worse
down there
That the pain
the rush in their nervous system is so much greater

a little boy at my daycare kicks my ******
and I think about how boys say that it hurts worse
how they're more sensitive to the touch
and I think how
maybe
they're just not used to the touch

You see
we've been wrestling
these 4 boys 1 girl and myself
they're all four years old
and they don't know anything about personal space
or appropriateness
and you know any time i'm touched on my ******
those squirming knees
and feet
and elbows
and wrists that seem way too close to hands
I acknowledge it in my head
at least,
I think I do
or... maybe I don't
because we've been wrestling for a while now
and I know they've touched it more than once
but that's all I can seem to count
and I'm starting to think maybe I don't notice it
because maybe it's not abnormal for me for girls for women
maybe it's because we're supposed to have children climb out of our vaginas
and so accidental elbows and knobby knees
don't set off any alarms
maybe it's that maternal instinct
that allows me to have a random child
I'm paid to take care of
laying in between my legs
with them sprawled open

Because I've taken more offense
And drawn more pain
from Sharp bones and pinching hinges on my *******
and my stomach
than I have in my crotch

I can't help but think
I could possibly be used to it
like greedy hands and heads and elbows just seem to find their way into that space
more often than I thought
and maybe it just feels normal

Maybe it's a force of habit
for me to be zoned out
thinking of something else
my lunch
or my job
and casually notice activity in my ******
look down and see
a man
a child
it seems when an activity takes place in between my legs
I might get distracted
I might zone out
maybe I block it out
but I definitely don't pay attention
and I think that's a dangerous line for myself and for the children

For the children if I'm unafflicted by their grasping hands
then I'm not taking the opportunity to teach them it is not okay to touch me there
to touch a woman there
to touch another person there
and in consequently am teaching them that it is okay to touch me there
to touch a woman there
to touch another person there
and I don't want to raise one more generation of children behaving like that

Maybe that's how all these generations of adults behaving like children
behaving like that
came to be
women, so tired they forget to notice the little things
they forget people aren't supposed to touch them there
they're just so used to it
they're just so used to the violation
it becomes numbing like a knee or hand to the ******
is nothing more than a small blow to the thigh or the stomach
or any other insignificant piece a flesh

A mind can be seen until it stumbles
over dimmed names and faces.
Then the mind suffers occultation.
An amnesiac affliction manifests in
sorrow of the unafflicted.
Some last visions of the mind are experienced
in a mirage of health.
The one loved has gone missing
in death before dying.

What weary traveler wanders slowly down a worn and dusty road. Knowing that it has been year since anyone last traversed these dangerous trail. Still he dares to bare the burden of clearing this once wondrous street of debris, so that those who wish to walk this road once more can do so unafflicted by dark memories of the struggle once undertaken on this path before.

2010

Beauty
Love
Joy
Kindness
Light.
Light was all I was capable of seeing
Never did I shield my eyes from the sun
No.
I surrounded myself with the very essence of light
The glow radiated off of me in such a way that blinded anyone near
Briefly allowing them an escape from the darkness I was unaware of.

Years passed and my lamp still shone brightly
Unafflicted nor affected by the darkness of this world
Until it was.
My eyes were opened
No longer was I squinting at the world through the blinding sun
No.
They were opened
For once I noticed a difference in how society treated my people,
My family
The light flickered
I noticed the prominence of hate and separation
I noticed the way they looked at us and saw how they expected less from me
The flicker ceased
The lights went out
I was surrounded by darkness
The blinds had been lifted from my eyes only to reveal a starless night
For a while, the glow that once encompassed my being was no more
Replaced by a murky mask and a broken spirit
For a while, I couldn't find the light
I was trapped in a closeted pit of sorrow.
It wasn't until much later that I discovered the true identity of this lost light source,
It was my innocence

My innocence had been lost
Snatched up by the hands of discrimination
Stolen by the forces of premeditative thoughts and colonial idealism
I didn’t want it to be, but it was
Gone.
It’s location unknown to all
I had to say goodbye to my sun
I had to mature and grow and learn about the faults of this world
I needed to develop a deeper understanding of the darkness
All the while escaping from its ungiving grasp

Perhaps I could illuminate this gloomy obscurity
Find another light source that could renew my once ever-present glow.
No longer will I be forced to squint through life
Staring into the blinding light of the sun
Nor would I be completely incapable of seeing the luminosity of this world.
No.
It was a tinted light
One that understood the pain of this world while also witnessing its beauty

My sun had been swallowed
But a newly discovered star had been born.