The Fisting Bottom by Justin Chin

The Fisting Bottom

Soon, the carnival of me will be no more

than tossing sausages into an open cave.

The dark maw of Proud Monsters devouring

its shining arrogant young. For those who escape

the kill -- the wily, the motivated, the schemers,

the pure (certainly purer-than-thou), the chosen ones,

the untouchables -- the wreck is never far

from mind, never close at hand, but always sticks

to the back of the throat.

I have turned myself inside-out to turn

my understanding right-side-up or down; I have

wielded my weapon with cunning & grace & skill.

I have lived past the point

of impact; I have seen my disciples and my foes.

I have courted perfect loves and imperfect time; and still

I long to bloom. Rosebud

was never the name of my sled.