you remind me of a dark place-
my mother’s village
far away,
first day of third grade
blonde girl cried through eyes
the color of my country’s basins.
she wasn’t new to this world,
she wasn’t lonely and confused,
tripping through a concrete forest of
false idols and plastic shadows,
just missed her brothers.

a pitiful excuse for survival.

and i
(olive skinned, hair on my legs,
stubborn, reckless,
fire chugging aries,
everything a jagged rock to scale,
all the bodies must be sniffed
before i release my eyebrows)
always hear your muffled whisper,

coating the air like dew
the intimidated glances
hit me blunt in the face.

but holding my tongue is not an option.
your baffled countenances nothing but
fans tickling flames.

you people are connected like iron on a magnet
and god forbid one of you steps out of the line
one of you speaks your sick mind
one of you opts not to shock the man behind the wall
and devours the corpses instead.

i want to cry, i want to throw things at your face,
i’d want to show you my tribe is better than yours,
if i had a tribe to speak for.
i want to walk into a portal and never see
any of you again.

you think your smile conceals your malice
your innocent voice a curtain at intermission,
but the aliens see everything and
when they arrive, they will only take me
back with them.

what i really need to do
is get a dog and name him teddy roosevelt
and sing him john lennon songs
and teach him to stomach gin

what i really need to do
is learn how to play piano
and sing songs about cigarette smoke
and lie about having a twin  

what i really need to do
is find someone who calls themselves petunia
and bend low and scoop them up
and teach her to stomach gin

what i really need to to do
is learn how to play guitar
and sing songs about her knuckles
and the delicate shine of her shins

what i really need to do
is shoot dice with old black men
and hang out in alleyways
and wallow in filth and bathe in sin

what i really need to do
is learn how to play the harmonica
and sell ******* to rich white girls
and not feel a **** thing about it

what i really need to do
is find someone who calls themselves best friend
and bend low and scoop them up
and teach him to stomach gin

Hatred grows inside
Ripping apart my soul
Digging down too deep
To keep in control

Spawning in my midst
There is none other to blame
Than that person in the mirror
The name reminiscent of flame

With troubled eyes I see
The pain I cause within
Never ending is this flow
Of personal hate and sin

Comfort is sent from others
Though it makes a mere dent
Causing little interruption for this ship
On a ceaseless path to torment

Her long brown hair hung
occluding forty-seven percent of her face
and her one eye
looked a little manic.

It was slow and sweet
for a while
but she had been
gradually gaining momentum.

I am watching her
carefully and
waiting, really
for that moment.

Suddenly she stops.

She raises her hands up
clenched.
It looks like she is going to
pull her own hair
and then her right fist
slams into my ribs
followed by a left
and a right and a left.
A barrage of little hurts
pouring out
machine gun frenzied.

She digs her nails into my chest,
her mouth is twisted,
her teeth clenched,
I can see muscles
in one jaw line twitch.
More hair falls over her
Countenance.
Her hips move furious  

and then
Sensuous wails of red light,
screams of sumptuous green,
bright yellow trembling,
and electric blue rippling
like bright neon

She cools and dims
she collapses
into me
sobbing
and I can feel
salty wet
itchy dripping down my skin

I cry too
never having seen someone
this...



Michael L Sutter