Feb 24, 2009

Rape of Myself

Written by Seth Abramson

Read by Brent Goodman

                         Again the old heart returns				
with its old heat, that old alertness					
of muscle, and the weave of desire through-
out, out of which I say truthfully
             when I was a much younger man
I ought to have spent so many more hours
touching myself —

                         ankles and boots,
ankles beneath boots and boots with ankles
inside, and what is the luxury of a knee
             if it is not to wear it
while it impacts with wood like a leaf, a bolt
against metal, or flesh returning to all flesh?
This is the bird I become in my bed,

the flutter of that old picturesque courage
from the years I had more teeth than I knew,
more toes, more spots to be touched
than anyone has ever been touched, down
on the bed I throw me to relearn all of that,
to win that courage, that old eliding
flex that wakes me yes wakes me from sleep.

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