Husk

About the first meeting with someone, tied into one of the last. Critique of masculinity.

Stone-heavy,
your voice reverberates the bar,
a tomb with chandeliers.

Brows crocheted in legacy—
marred, kiss-red skin,
alcohol gnaws its paradox:
masculinity, death.

Lazarus hair, black-powder smoke:
a revolver’s curl.

Bang—your prick-wit, a bullet.
Bang—the waiter flinches,
Bang—the ring finger severed,
a vow undone mid-air.

Round and round—
two drinks, three—
a carousel of shotguns.

The car devours me,
seatbelt a noose.
Tonight, a year-long road.

Later, my finger cocks—

Bang—you speed, demolition poet.
Bang—the sidewalk cradles my stagger.
Bang—you scatter shells
into surrogate meat.

Shot down,
shot down,
baby.

Birth arrives blank.
I chew the husks of men,
eat their pages raw,
ink clotting my throat.