mutilation,
they call it.

mutilation,
like i’m a butcher
in search of meat to cleave,
and rather than stain my knife
on the skins of bleating livestock
or sweat over a hunt or chase,
i choose the path of least resistance:
myself, my flesh, my matter—
so naïve and unknowing,
defenceless in the face of change.

mutilation,
as if the weight
i mean to carve away
isn’t unwelcome or di...

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They never ask, the old ladies.
They just hug, pinch, kiss and
Cuddle at will. Babies are theirs,
You know, and they do love them
So much. I guess it isn’t their fault,
No one ever told them they aren’t
Free to touch at will. I once told
A woman to get her hands out of
My hair, and she said no man
Had ever asked her to stop
Touching him before. As an old
Lady, I’m sure she became anothe...

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