Hole-Heart Boy


into a library of toxins

enter the hole-heart boy


on a guanine dice-roll or a meiotic card-shuffle

or god’s fingers poking a womb


“don’t we have it lucky?”

“isn’t it such a shame?


the scalpel-cut of prejudice is cold and it is vain

numbed by ignorance and lidocaine


the struggle makes the matriarch

crave the pethidine and the dark


but dear, this is a love that beat the odds

making a mother of invention and improbability


damn them to the narrowlands and live

you more-whole-heart-than-them boy

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