The muses want the man to kill himself.
The muses want the man to live.
He dances for them, each time the same,
each time he thrives by making himself
a thing. If
a fetish is a story masquerading as an object,
terrors masquerade as the story.
Dance with me, the story goes.
*
Someone I know says the people he hurts are not hurt;
that the story he tells me is fun, one he hopes will make me hard
with him. He pays me
with the hope I will not get hard with him.
I hope to have us play. I hope to have us unravel
the story, arousing between us my life.
A Poem Also about Race
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Critica is an inclusive and transdisciplinary publishing platform that focuses on offering a reflective and aesthetic space to consider social and cultural issues through a psychoanalytic and creative lens. It is also a forum for ideas at the intersection of psychoanalysis, creativity, philosophy, and the social sciences.
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