work
tar
His torso a bruised truck barreling nowhere arms batons for defence of ragged love eyes finding danger where dubious men fight barelegged he simpers on
Forgive the ape in him. remember trees are his fraternity. your womb seems dank and plain, and without him,
fingers on cotton degrade him to working classes his sacred valve his tonnage of plural hurt used for obtaining a manacle of money
for a man works as a tool splays open the earth or a man dies unburied in a culture of cheap pine boxes.
~
40
~
he knows it is just his opposable thumb
za n
that wrecks it for both of us.
JANE CROWN