Outside
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He holds his baby to himself. Smushes the outer limits of his cigarette.
cries like a child: not fatally masculine yet.
It's not fine to say 'daddy's testicles are ill.'
His manhood has swelled to bursting,
still science can never save what he wants the most:
Another cradle.
When his body is a hall for cancer - he's rancid.
Some gentle words from the room behind him.
And he's in; once again to his house and its bloody sin of assuming he should have his grapes
and not be so skinny.
He tries for a smile.
Long ago, he was a dancer, and wild when he danced. But now he moves like his heart has been lanced with a needle.
When he's in the shower, he holds his balls in his big hands and doesn't move.
He hopes they won't run away like water.
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THE GOODS
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Outside, which
was posted on Jan 13, 2011 by
Out.
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Literary
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