Metamorphosis

or: De Minos

AI SELF PORTRAIT BY AUTHOR

Male I’d turn if only the head that of the bull
And I’d sign the road to power, and humiliation, fur to fur

I’ll hold the axe, the sword, or the hammer
But I wouldn’t need a cock, just horns

Mooh. Growl. This chest the iron and ivory
The protein and skin. I’m strong but haven’t changed
Not really. Here, enclosed, still, in a maze. A fun game for remote voices. I fade as the memory of poems where the verb was inscribed.

I rise to fall. It’s our rite of passage. No anger, just perdition. No semen, just the strength, and the shame. Father, on the rocks conquered by wild grass and berries, you share with me the secret — words cut across your red face — , we are a legacy of desolation. Love is buried beneath.