For Larry: On the night his heart broke

What's left?

Shadows...

Leaks of dust, dead skin to silhouette a frame,
when no windows cracked suggest protection.
Drops of rain to moisten the flesh,
when flaked skin begs cold cream,
unbottled.

And when the bottle pours an offensive amount,
bearing blatant stench to churn acidic walls,
and weakens the lever that lifts heavy, heavy glass,
I know I must, MUST drink what has been drawn without ink,
from the hastiness of the tip.

Then comes howling.
From the deserts and dunes, swamps and stagnant pools,
baked grass and rolled up leaf...
From offices, resorts, bikini shops, motel rooms, church bells,
and old reunion notices...
One hundred intangible creatures;
a vicious, snarling bite greedy and grinding;
a demand for a final gift to my grave, my blood.
They come tongue in sword,
melding from subtle wisps,
to overworked putty,
towards social glass, paper tin, abandoned rock,
and finally...

I do not (you should not, Larry) find pleasure in the bruises.
Wrestled from their precious skin, by the itch of my uncut toes,
when the cubs - that now a wolf - once naively mewed over my nipple's milk.
Thier breasts are strong, and their dust has sting, and the shadows are power.
Because?
Because they have marched.
Indeed, I lead their forces.

This may sound incredible,
but I believe these shadows to be my friends,
as long as the nudity is intact.

Who represents my failures,
surrendered pawns,
like the naked, the vulnerable, the warmth of raw trust, the chill of sincere shame, shy fear, bold exhibitionism, padded illusions?
Their gift to clench the spine so tight to widen eyes to evil spread to fingers burn to iron revelations: Fire. Fury. Freedom!
Their gift to welcome sudden frost, not flinch, to posture like a Celtic giant on a throne of outrageous oasis, chilling grin of past glory.
Their owners, these shadows, the WOMEN who suffered, surrendered, attacked, admonished, fought to linger and flourish for future sisters to protect for me, from me, me from,
like our brothers once protected them, needed protection from.

In this game - a simple choice of word - there are no villains.
Just late bloomers.
The only rule is to see them NAKED,
and then ...

Close your shades to a bearable modicum of pressures ...