Wednesday, December 23, 2015

The Fisting Bottom by Justin Chin


The Fisting Bottom

Soon, the carnival of me will be no more
than tossing sausages into an open cave.
The dark maw of Proud Monsters devouring
its shining arrogant young. For those who escape
the kill -- the wily, the motivated, the schemers,
the pure (certainly purer-than-thou), the chosen ones,
the untouchables -- the wreck is never far
from mind, never close at hand, but always sticks
to the back of the throat.
I have turned myself inside-out to turn
my understanding right-side-up or down; I have
wielded my weapon with cunning & grace & skill.
I have lived past the point
of impact; I have seen my disciples and my foes.
I have courted perfect loves and imperfect time; and still
I long to bloom. Rosebud
was never the name of my sled.


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