And so we'll bleed:
Through shin bones,
And fingertips.
Through our female eyes,
And particular thighs.

We'll scream and stay put,
But avoid stillness at all costs.
This is ground control
To The Marginalized,
Here to force a few things clear.

Your shock treatments
Will not drown out the
Footsteps. Inching closer and
Closer to that white front door.
And all that false feminism does

Is boil my ******* blood.

And my friend has three degrees.
With a rising temperature he says,
"Cheers to rebuilding!"
And we laugh.
And we cry.

White middle-class men.
I've heard them
Referred to, as the trans-emasculated.
Then the great white wave of women
Found him appealing, and then irresistable.
Hands down.
Who could hear the leaners, whispering,
Not daring to utter a name too loud,
Without bell, book and candle.
Surrogate or subrogation.
Rich in image, and derogatory by degrees.
Sugar Daddy, or real Daddy.
Enigmatic.
And I, being a ******,
And not in need of support,
Followed her,
Then raised my hands
In supplication and prayer.

he sits on the bar stool beside her
                            too skinny
                            his flat wrinkled forehead
                            lifts brown bushy eyebrows
                            but he does not speak to her

                            she is blonde of course
                            perhaps 23
                            also skinny
                            a flat chested go go dancer
                            from new york city
                            el passo
                            bakersfield
                   ­         miamichicagomontreal
                            denver…­

                            she is with someone else

                             he thought she was his
                             but now

                             as a friend
                             she would like to buy him a shot

                             tired eyes narrow                            
                             he  stares at her as if he
                             has never lost a job
                                                                      ­                                     
                             as if no woman
                             brunette red head or blonde that he has loved
                             whose name he has tattooed onto his arm
                             has ever left him
                             as if the mail man, the priest, and his mom
                             are spitting into his stupid face
                             as if god has kicked him in the nuts
                             as if his dog has bit his hand as if
                    
                             this could never have happened to him