Poetry & Democracy


I was born into law
like law remade
A tapestry of pen strokes quietly unraveling
A man asks me to please
forget myself and bend
into the bathroom the way
he does he wants me
naked in his home in his closet
his attic his den
In the mirror
I sing to my hair I beg it to grow
I wrap it around my knuckles
A man unbuckles his belt
I await my instructions on live television
A man is his own definition of freedom
A man weeps into the camera
America laps at his chin

A man
doesn't know
what to ask of a feeling
wasn't taught
to swim
Water flows
from the source to my
shoulders to my
cock to the floor
I push the polished stones around
with a dainty foot
blend with sea
I swirl the goblet taste the air
I sit poised on my throne
with two swords crossed
before my chest waiting
poison at the ready

More Poetry & Democracy

In Defense of Predictability

I read a picture book to my son about a father crossing the border with his own son titled "La Frontera." My son just turned one and is too young to know what a border is, or that frontera means border in Spanish, or that there are two languages I am speaking to him, or that they are words that point to something outside of this small world made up of only us two, as he nestles himself next to me in his skinny pajamas before brushing his teeth and going to bed.

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