No, It's Not

Now Serving An Edit on April 27th*

Poison and crude joys
slid under living skin,
to steal our blessing
for their livelihood.

What's it worth when it's gone?
Hairier arms.
A little obsolute, but they'll
get the job done.

That's my kind of fear,
see, not your mongering
but my hairy arms.
Oh, God, my hairy arms.

Where I come from,
I have something to prove.
Homes are unceasing and enveloping
potholes from which

I'd been sheltered,
I'm overwhelmed,
poison and crude joys -
broken by this line.


*I have never, ever edited a Wikipedia article, in my life. This poem is also not about Wikipedia, at all, whatsoever, even in the slightest imaginably subconscious way. Incidentally, however, Wikipedia was founded by a Montessori graduate.