Subliminal Ointment

My hands were already

frontward and forming,

gestures of hush and lull

Your small, obtruded body,

captive and writhing

And the arms of fogged faces

anonymous and dutiful,

detaining you in the cold

porcelain barrel

Gestures of necessity and must

gathered around you

Your disfigured, bald head

your sewn, young eyes

alien ears

and forgotten pigment,

Yowled at utility

Begged for a ripper

Weakened by no name

Your identity was deformity

and your ineffable language wailed

of desperate confusion and torment

My hands were

frontward and forming

as I reached for your face,

held it securely with my fingers and palms

and I whispered,

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok.”

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok.”

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok.”

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok.”

Wild, fragile, animal

that he was,

barely took in

my names for him

So I continued my soft murmurs,

“Sweet love, I am here.

“Sweet love, I am here.”

“Sweet love, I am here.”

Cooing from a deep sensation

that this is what begged to be felt,

I kept on dreaming

of her combing my agony

and caring for my deformity

and speaking into my blinded countenance–

my face saying to my face

my mother saying to my face

my God saying to my face–

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok.”

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok.”

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Filed under mythology, poetry, throb, Uncategorized

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