Progeny

Where you find me roaming,
the streets of Damascus
are solemn
and sudden
and barren

One must wonder
how such a playful thing
can be such a torture?

In rooms where
children orate in silence
where fear is stapled
pressed between their lips,
lancet-wrists tear the stitches

If feigning a smile
is like stardom
in hallways of debauchery,
the crooked-lamb
will look no further.

Has’t not becometh
a grown man?
Has’t not surpassed
childhood?

In a revelation
bones stretch.
Gums. Cut.
Follicles pierce;
strings of a stringy wire
Magnificent change!

And mistakes keep repeating
repeating
repeating
repeating

Fiction Collection 2009
©Bobby Ruelas