before we could speak

before we could speak

the specter of death
smiling,
Cleopatra
uncrossing her legs.
a small glimpse
into the infinite
then it’s over
a bad dream
lingering
like egg yolk
or menstrual blood
on your tongue

I wonder what
the apostles
imagined
when they
masturbated?
I wonder
if they were
dreamt up guilty
and shameful
like everyone
else?

perhaps

I wonder
if husbands
that stone
their wives
to death
hurl their stones
with secret
erections?

zealots
rolling their eyes
in the ecstasy
of prayer
I wonder what
they see up there?

knowing starlight
is just as dead
as my
mother’s body
or my
father’s soul
perception
cursed by wisdom
is a heavy burden
like love
to a whore
or truth
to a christian
some brutalities
can never be
denied their beauty
and innocence
is nothing
if not
made to lose
when the dogs howl
in the winter night
we assume it’s the
cold
we assume they
are suffering
but what if it’s
a primal
ecstasy we
subconsciously
envy?

the specter of death
snickering

a gym-coach pedophile
ordering his boys
to shower

the dark years
the dark times
the dark eras
the dark
and the dark
and the dark

since time
immemorial
since before
we could speak

and it’s still
all we
talk about
isn’t it?

–Dennis Cruz


Poetry Writing

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