Men grow on my fingers
and I assault them when I write
until each becomes impotent,
I will never let anyone hurt me.
Their pulses stutter and echo
as if I keep them in a barn
but they’re hard under my skin,
their erections like callouses.
Some get restless and none cry
because they know I watch:
I am not here to be present, I
am not here to let people inside.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
Men grow on my fingers
and I assault them when I write
until each becomes impotent,
I will never let anyone hurt me.
Their pulses stutter and echo
as if I keep them in a barn
but they’re hard under my skin,
their erections like callouses.
Some get restless and none cry
because they know I watch:
I am not here to be present, I
am not here to let people inside.
