The fathers hold their children
in their bellies/ they ingested them
whole. Icarus’ revenge knows no end.
You can see the lines etched
in their skin/ unfulfilled lives
exist in the grooves of their age lines.
In the war some soldiers edged close
to the enemy lines/ burrowed beneath the ground.
This is no different. The manchild is the enemy.
Do they really swallow them
you ask. How could you not know? Bloated
bodies fill the streets. Some live in alleys.
Tomorrow glistens in their eyes
But nothing can stop the movement/ the children
try to escape but they have been sentenced to eternity.
These full grown children rebel
unlike fetuses. The pain
sometimes too much to bear.
belle homme noir. A father once walked right into
the middle of our village. He took a razor
and opened his womb, removed his children
and left them on the village floor. The father died
but not before completely losing his mind.
He never saw the insects gnawing at his black
children’s skin, never knew he released them
Peace & Love,