of course, I am drawn
to the parting
story-

the red sea,
the granted custody
     of a child’s
top
half,

my thighs.

but also
I am stilled

by scarecrow, man on cross, or by

my own     stillness, my head’s

wish     to be gripped

by a crown of thorns.

if ever there was a blind man
chosen     to care     for a stork

what a story

what a story, alas

this is not the real life
where I would not dream
of abusing
you and yours.