Thursday 5/11/2006 09:58:00 PM

It's not describing what happened. It IS what happened. The goat in the corner of the petting zoo. While all the others devour paper cups out of the hands of the captors.

A fetid smile wears his face. He put puts on his glasses to disguise. But now it's just a fetid smile wearing him and his glasses. Bigger eyes, but further away.

Worn by his moods. Worn by his memories. He's difficult to find under all those layers. And even after I've finished undressing him, still he's no closer to naked.

Self-made amputee. He cut everything off until only a helpless torso remained. Nothing on the inside and no means to reach out.

I want to crawl inside him and fill it all in. But I have nothing to give.

I want to take his fingers and bend them back until he cries. Prove he can feel.

That I'm the victim.

Crawl down his throat. Weave through his lungs. Find the belly. Identify his hunger. And force it up. Until it spills from his mouth. In chunks big enough to make him see what I always have.

We never choose alone. It holds us hostage.

I often confuse capture with surrender.

Anonymous said...

deep man, very deep!

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