Poem 14

What is an accusation worth? It is not an object reactive to my flesh frictions, but a violation careening towards existential collapse. Fresh adults tumble across the commons, radiant faces wanting to be right, dripping with the hate performed after liminal cathexis.

I am torn under by their obstinate posturing. My love and relations kicked inside-out. I want to barrel away towards the desert. My children avert their molting eyes and sink shame into a quiet you-scape, a place where they loathe my failures and ancient character; a time when I could be visible to their hurt, though without any answers.