Subconscious fear of castration
by Uriah J. Oxford
In my hands there lies a twitch
Something akin to winter lying to summer
Rain lying to lightning
And pain lying to trees—
A twinge of darkness overcoming light
Foresting its tenacious hemoglobin shadow
Upon the rafter in the house that I built with
My feet and my hands; my limbs punching
And devouring wanting wind
Wind wanting fire
Fire wanting air
Air wanting nothing
But to be air—
Air cannot twitch
Air cannot twinge
Air is foresting
All around my
Fascination
With a door
That opens
To produce
Sounds far
Away
But
Eerily
Known—
Known among other sounds,
Could they be voices?
They could not.
This pair of scissors will
Light the way; extracting
Light from the fire in the
Gulf of woods; the gulf
Where no girl should go
Lest she be afraid, lest she
Be alone and afraid; lest she
Need her haircut and her
Desires to be grown into
A rock behind a fallen
Mushroom—
A headless mushroom shriveled
by a laser of sun; forcing its way through
The slender legs of two pines;
intent on keeping a man out of bounds; out of reach.