Forgive me. There were shouts across the screen <br />but I put my hand through the screen, so keen <br />was I to keep my secret: I would die <br />unless I was hooked up to a machine <br />which sucked tiny wads of paper and lye <br />from the bloodstream. Since the ability <br />to scream disrupted the sterility <br />of a stationwagon, our way seemed clear. <br />Fear directed us to virility. <br />She claimed the masculine is a veneer sheer <br />as chiffon. Standing in a parking lot, <br />I murdered a boy with this train of thought, <br />then cried till my sobs shriveled into soap <br />and we grew up to be what we were not.<br /><br />Indigo Hawkins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/another-piece/
