Holes in the knowing of

Abuser put a dog tooth
through my lip. I am science or close.
I am, breathing here benign,
a boy that dies on orgasm.
Family weeps how willows do—
they droop—they pound
my back in knowing not
that my sexual organs rot—
what I want the redhead—
is it cancer—it is not—
the mess of me oh murder
crowds on crowds to watch—
perfect Spetznaz in a cell
loving his ghosts—sweet tooth
I found in me, so ignorant
the drive to drive me biting—
yet early, beauty, I love
sixteen hours I pass daily—
everywhere social like the hated drunk—
mine is the stillborn plunge—
face in the fat drink—to drink—
numbing water and trauma in my eyelash—
have I found my gasp?—I think—

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~ by Jeremy on May 17, 2011.

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