Those guys

Morbid allusions
No early age privilege,
Regardless of age
That´s where it gets shaped.

Driven by others,
And mothers and fathers,
No one counts guilty,
Just occurring dismay.

Selecting the modes
Of relations towards them
----- Lacks control.
Who´s controlling anyway?

Where controlled are controllers
Each syllable gets split,
Hugged once, torched twice
And zero discount.

Listing and fisting
Are nearer than we think;
Corned beef wailing,
The other half smacks.

Surely, of course, clear,
Blurred, unsharp, fear,
Who´s the observer,
Who grey eminence?

“I´ll give you …”
“What dare you say?”
“Don´t talk ´bout my mother!”
“I swear by my mother!”
And growing dwarfs.

One part searching fusion,
The other inside of it still.

Wombfuls of hands
----- Reaching for Daddy
Shriek back, cold-heated,
Mind bubbles disrupt.


And they grew fists.
--- Giving and taking
Where levels of violence
Seem peace-measured tails.


(Nov 2009)