[Photo by Javier Beraluce]




(Written for and inspired by Matt)



Yes, I am now attracted to the mute certainty

Of arms as oars

The sunstroke back too and the smell of Bruts





When you stammered for the right words you found

(when every little nail starts to grow inwards

and every little injustice is anticipated)

The foreskin of intent





Now spider web veins on cheeks, ingenious angina

Those rubber band calves

Gorilla nipples





Wearing your mother’s shoes to school

And later a stick and a wheel

You hid from him

But I never tried to hide from you

That to me would have been badly

Inflammatory





I too 

Am that other man

At the workplace with another greeting face





And so the disregarded piano listens all night to the night

I see that painting you had is still hanging

The one with the landscape I used to run through

Every dinnertime





I recognize your temper, bent back

And sliced profile, sliced silence

The impulses of grabbing hands

From today’s hard-bellied words 

Our identities are cast firm