Black Violence

A sweaty-toothed mad man

Limbers along a dock

He forgets what he’s forgot

and remembers what he’s lost

Creaking wood makes him invisible

the dock shadows him into anonymity

In anonymity he thrives

In darkness he survives

He hasn’t been seen

By the sun

Or his sons

for 10 years

He forgot since—

he used his feet for walking

How it feels to see

or be seen

Or for nakedness to be calming

Since he’s been blind for so long

Not by his eyes

But a thrashing need for silence