The Male Mantis
Let me explain in terms you’ll understand: picture a boy who, starved for love, has planned and executed another household crime, and now his mother has discovered him and glowers down from the bright ceiling where her face is the dark sun, and the ear-whir of fear and desire mounts, for soon she’ll speak his name with passion and meet his pale dry cheek with the full sail of her hand, loosing the tears of shame and gratitude—all the boy cares to know of bliss. And then forget his trauma with its dysfunctional-family melodrama, and think of me with her to whom all heads bow as to the body’s harshest, best-loved gods.