When did I learn the word ďIĒ?
What a mistake. For some,
it may be a placeholder,
for me itís a contagion.
For some, itís a thin line, a bare wisp,
just enough to be somewhere
among the gorgeous troublesome youís.
For me, itís a thorn, a spike, its slimness
a deceit, camouflaged like a stick insect:
touch it and it becomes what it is:
ravenous slit, vertical cut, little boy
standing upright in his white
communion suit and black secret.
Poetry July / August 2013
July / August 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Michael Ryan
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission