Le maudit Mo D.

maudit poetry corner #2

i am afraid of
slight asian men
(one tried to carve my chest; a popsicle stick photograph in Beverly Hills)
and
ancient tall men with roman noses
(one made me and broke my heart)
men who read
(they all have a problem with me;
such is the plight of a girl who works with her head)
books poems and angry guitars
(the strings that break are the strings I make)
silly pointing and speaking out
(i cannot speak; words
betray this tongue so thick with song)
lights pouring from overhead
(such papery skin makes leaves that say nice things)
smoke and flame
(nearly destroyed the foundation upon
which these fears were born)
eyes which fall and do not meet mine
(so long ago, in
polyester pigtails this plight was wrought; unkindness is a game, a necessary foe)
remind me of the infinite sword
that holds my leg still

i am afraid of
paper wrapped babies i might never hold
(lambs of god foretold by angry subway rats cursed
to hold the magic wand)
blame
(for my innocence is vapor)
women
(it is not my intention to harm you, only to hold your gaze
as the wind undoes your shoelaces)
bad tastes
plastic bags
regrets so leaden that tears are toxic waste

and yet
hold my hand
for tomorrow's untold graces may challenge
that which fear entombs
undoes it like a lover
after time relents
and
forgets responsibility