18

semi circle

at birth he weighed 13 lbs
and required forceps
to escape her vagina.
he now rarely leaves the house.
he's a preacher and
somewhat resembles
a dotson:
his trunk is very long
his legs are short
and walk
very quickly. but mostly
he sits. when he sits
beside you
in the driver's seat
or in that closet at the back
of church
he is a tower.
he wears cowboy boots
to help
when standing
more effectively achieves
penitence.
he wears suits
bartered down
to no more than $12.
anything else would be
materialistic.
and that is a sin.
he is the quintessential christian.
at 13
he knocked me unconscious
with vine's expository dictionary
of bible words for
masturbating in my
doorless bedroom.
he once used a metal spoke
from his tie rack
to scratch modesty circles
on my knees.
and i am in fact very modest
tho i still masturbate
on occasion.
i am the quintessential thorn.
the time has come
and gone for reparations
to my character by means
of scripture and mutilation.
what was left
of his prime
shook off the end
of his dick
as my mother looked away
and thought of
austria. we are the whole
of each other's
vacant worth. and nothing
could have been done
differently.

By Cat

my goal in poetry is to gently whittle away every bit of sentimentality, faith, bravado and passion from my day to day conversations and leave myself appropriately unopinionated. freedom. expression. beauty. hope. fanciful delusions. i hate myself for believing.