It doesn’t make me so sick anymore
The wafting stench of War, Despair, Depravity
Death does not turn my stomach, to eat
A cutlet of tender meat, to touch
Upon a soft patch of animal
Fur–feels soft, smells like dry, sober, animal caress,
Before the farmer comes in casting his looming
Shadow through the clean dust speckled barn light
Sandalwood, sawdust, a sampling of clean moss
I’m not afraid to touch it anymore
I can adjust, like eyes coming inside from the bright lights
I’m not afraid to touch this anymore… It’s here
The rabbit is dead, the children lick her bones
Clean, well, fed, and her fabric sits, one pelt upon the rest
A barrel full of hides, laughter wells up from inside, to seek
Shelter from the cold which waits, lingers, crawls through
Cracks, from beyond this wall, outside it is
Taboo–to wrap oneself in fur, with hungry ones crouched out
Cast in the naked rays of scorching sun, dancing sole-less
Across the dense ice Tundra…
Taboo… am I to climb inside
To take the faded black and white photograph and rip her in two
Half of me
Half of you
Framed
In this simple shaft of light which peers
Inside this bin I’m in
Bottoms
Heads
Flipped and
Tossed
I’ll bet
I care too–deeply
And burrow further–even
Your thoughts
Your mind
I love
The children, plants
Pets
You aren’t allowed to lose
Your mind
Or kill
Your heart
Drive me wild
But never crazy
You aren’t allowed to hurt
Me anymore
I’ve somewhere special to be
And it’s you who is driving me
So happy
It hurts… to see what you’ve made me.
