in abject times

when i look down

i see myself an angel

now...
 

fiery fists,

of hairy hands,

one, two—one, two—
 

my absent pregnant womb

that birthed too quick.
 

“You can’t get men

without a dick!”
 

i hear it all too often now...
 

wishing i could reify

the Presence here

between my thighs

but wanting only solitude
 

tinted glasses

on my nose,

blind hands search,

but seek to find

a smoothness, muteness,

only when i grow

these wings and take to sky.