creature of spiralling star, born half his weight

gums aching at his mother’s favourite song

as he measured every bit of pain he had brought back

only to find that it was just a zero sum game.

this was the changeling in the cradle, brandished rattle

with stunted words in the rhythm of a death knell –

his body had acquired meaning and it was mean, it was hurt,

it was all jagged edges: sharp elbows, knobby knees. 

anyone could take a look and they would know

that this was not simply the pearl without a shell

but the intruder beneath, the drill worm that broke in

not knowing it would be stifled right under. 

he had put it aside, didn't dare have a bite of meat

if it meant he were the lamb: from the pull 

of a jean zipper comes a rib, raw stumbling thing

that could etch scratches into a wooden frame. prove

its conquests: no notches, but instead claw marks

from the boys that came before him; the cot spun

over into a bed. a cheek pressed flush against the pillow

as he swallowed his wants down and turned,

whoever he was meant to be, she had given tithe

and he had thoroughly made his mark then onwards.