(Priapus!)
Priapus!
Come and let me
have a look at you.
I'll not stare
at the obvious--
the enormous,
swollen,
tired phallus;
the rises of strains
in the muscles
of your forearm;
the purple bend
of awful skin;
the long-wished-lost
weight.
I'll not share
your story broadly--
the fetal curse
of a jealous
goddess;
the chasing through fields
of Other-claimed
flesh;
the thwarting,
(hilariously)
of an angry, stubborn
ass.
I'll not mock
the life of verdict--
the building
in you
of the unspeakable thing;
the want
of love
or the thrust of it;
the longing
for finish,
and the prayer for
ends.
Rather, I'll wait.
I'll look you over,
with my own two eyes,
and see you blink.
Who would have guessed
it would take your presence
to undo you?
Who would have expected
the weight of too much of you
would be the weight you could not bear?
The envy, friend, is yours.
Stand up (as if you could not);
rise,
and get out
of my sight.
KMC 8/4/11
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