Trick Says
“But as you are chosen for my own calling,
I am here”
He sits facing me
Static gaze
Head close clippered. Hands on table
There is a growth on his right pinky
like a slender erect nipple
One of the many ways he is flawed
I am completely deformed by him
Born with such willingness
I am almost wholly right for his wrong
doing.
“As you go with me, I tell you things
that heed to your understanding”
Unaccustomed to vertigo
I am so small in his presence
the ledge of his brows
casts a shadow
from which I’ve fallen
His goatee is frayed wire, unruly coil
If he licked the surface of his lips just now
I would shatter into self-questioning
a puzzle of unseemly
shards.
“When you see with your ears
and hear with your eyes
then you are near me”
Finger by finger
he cracks my knobbed joints
Searches above each “Pop!”
for ache pealing in the brown silence
of my conflicted eyes
I am at war with his smile
Collaborator in my own liberation, demise
He shushes me: “Think less”
We stand. I follow as if I were his
child.
