The disposable razor, judders
across unshaven skin and sprouting
hair is defeated, left to sink into the
drain and far away from me.

This I do for you.

On goes the shampoo, the conditioner,
the body lotion (with that sweet fresh smell),
the liquids streaming off of me with
a scent I know well.

It's the scent of the night before.

The day before you and I choose
each other, once again
to spread laughter and
cure boredom.

It is for this that I bear this small
portion of self mutilation.

The hair is then burnt, or brushed or
bent, as I twist it round resisting
bristles.

All done in case you wish to nestle there.

An outfit is chosen, discarded, then re-picked to a constant monologue:

RedNOworethatonelasttime...OH GOD WHERE IS IT fuckbloodypooandAAAH,
perhapssomepurpleTHATONEnodoesn'tgononoNoNONOONOO blahblahblah.

(well, you get what I mean)
(If not...****. Just me then?)

It's all for you.
Colours smeared onto face,
flowers pierced into skin,
eyelashes lengthened,
the trace of muscles etched into
willing legs and abs...

This I do for you.

And it's worth it, though you'll never quite know
the effort with which it takes,
to replace a sleep deprived villain with a semi
attractive teen. You'll never know,
but it's worth it.

"You look nice today"
is enough to make me quietly
preen
for hours with joy.

A look of appreciation as
you nuzzle in can make the
pain of straighteners and razors
scorch into unyielding flesh.

A kiss on the neck
which has been foundationed
and sculpted for your enjoyment
enough to make me arch like
a swan.

It's enough.

So, this I do for you.

Good god son.
Looking straight at feet never got no one no where in this world
Son, can you imagine?
What it’s like to be passed over for shoe leather?
To have eyes, arms, legs, knees, all ignored?
Ignored for an inanimate object with a pleasant scent but nothing more
Salt water and leather.

Or son.
Can you begin to imagine what it’s like to melt?
What it’s like to fold in a too large chair
Staring straight ahead
At a screen
Flashing colors/lights
Sliding into and out of semblances and meanings
Hands searching and
not finding.

And son, your knees jutting out like jetties among the foam
Crossing right over left over left over right
Cool air lifting up hairs like shocks, but god son.
You must look at them.
And son could you ever imagine?
How deep a chair can feel
When you know the folding’s real
And the water isn’t still for any lack of menace
Oh god!
How the screams will peal.

But son, I hope you’ve guessed that from under the refracting and refracted water
That cuts the light up so beautifully
From under that water you’ll never see bottom.

And son, my love, this is vital
What they say about screams in space is true.

I know you’re a child, kid, but think, really think on this one,
How’s it got to taste?
Fed nothing
But expecting much
Can you conceive of the empty imperial dry rot
Upon which, believe this if anything, the sun never sets
And child, it tastes like carrion.
When the chair starts its own folding in.
Holy Lord in Heaven, my beloved son, when the sea foam green monoliths roll in with the moon.
They **** against the wood legs of the jetty
The feet, and knees too,
Those that are foundationed in the sand and bound up with the shoe leather
That you,
My ingrate son,
Cannot seem to ignore

today is the day that
Christ has given us a hope.
everything we do is
foundationed on His love
that was expressed,
triumphantly,
in the greatest of glories
today.
He has beaten the only thing we thought was inevitable
He has conquered the 'one fact of human life'
He has shown us, we are unlimited,
because our patron, our guiding hand,
Our Father,
is someone who is unlimited-
and He has guided us
all for His glory,
that we may believe-
no one but Christ would endure what He endured,
only for me,
and no one but Christ could rise from the grave.