Giant
for I grew up
at empty
parking-fields
with charcoal
penises
scribbled by
kids, on the
underbelly of
sleepers
On empty benches,
riddled with
moss, and oldies
cul-de-sacs
strewn with
wrinkled lash-leaves,
and the august smell of
piss
I’ve stargazed
my funeral rites
over the
shoulders of Ogres,
gifted my body
the same
caramel wounds
it gifts me, every night
Kicked a man
in his nuts
again
and again
and again
till his whiskers
froze
the aubergine tang
of my rapist-to-be
I’ve trod on the moon
with eyes as
empty
as mother-of-pearl
preludes
Half-fed
men, with
breastmilk
that kept
trickling
in midst of drought
and still
on every thirtieth,
the moon
impregnates me
with strawberry stares
and nocturnal
coos
it drains my
womb
of blood
as red as
the aubergine
man’s
irises
Love,
I have
never once
mastered
the air with
which
market-lassies
wave
Fedoras,
as
red
as the blood
they smear
Sierras with
as I lie on your
frog legs, as
distant
as a prostitute,
post
ejaculation
on every thirtieth,
I cradle my
barren
ovaries, like
purple-veined
eyeballs
of an unborn
fetus
my kinda Autumn
Mama, I have
never
learnt to be
giant
