|May 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Two|
I am steel.
I am iron and coke,
Girder and bolt.
Hurricanes run right through the gridwork.
I've beaded myself,
Locked in each bolt with an arc of molten anger.
This structure has been building for a long time.
You sang sadness,
And the girders creaked.
You sang truth,
And I let some bolts slip.
You sang seduction,
And water pelted steel.
You sang that there was softness,
And I believed it was an invitation.
Finding the fleshy part of me,
I coughed it up,
Let it out of the basket,
Tried to hand it to you,
Tried to give it to you.
I fell through the transparency of your hands.
Why can I hold everyone else,
But not myself?
Why, when I have witches whose spells can hold,
Whose song is mine and theirs,
Do I seek the faraway song from another country?
Why can't you sing the right song,
The song that circles round?
How can the false song hold magic?
I snatch the soft thing from you
And cry heresy.
I nail myself to innumerable iron crosses.
I cross myself.
I nail you for being what you are.
I forsake you for bitterness.
I banish you for being human.
I expunge you for your smallness.
I refuse the balm that you give,
Because I wanted the balm that you cannot.
I hear your truth
And I hate you for it.